


saying your names

by neonheartbeat



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Assassination Attempt(s), Clandestine Encounters In Closets, Conflicted Kylo Ren, Cuddling & Snuggling, Dry Humping, Eventual Happy Ending, F/F, F/M, Finger Sucking, First Time, Force Bond (Star Wars), Hux is Not Nice, Jealousy, Kylo Ren Has Issues, Kylo Ren and Rey Are Not Related, Lesbians in Space, Masturbation, Metafiction, Mind Manipulation, Multi, No Lesbians Die, Oral Sex, Polyamory, Prisoner of War, Semi-Public Sex, Sexual Tension, Sign Language, Social Media, Spanking, The Dark Side of the Force, Threesome - F/F/F, Useless Lesbians, Vaginal Fingering, Virgin Kylo Ren, Virgin Rey
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-15
Updated: 2019-01-17
Packaged: 2019-09-19 16:04:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 28
Words: 93,709
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17004765
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/neonheartbeat/pseuds/neonheartbeat
Summary: The Supreme Leader calls back his Knights of Ren as a preemptive measure against a suspected plot to overthrow his rule. The Knights are not what they might appear to be, however, and after a Resistance pilot is unexpectedly taken prisoner, things get complicated on every side.--"To truly judge the character of any ruler, one must turn one's attention to those he surrounds himself with..." -A Treatise On Monarchy and the Conduct of the Prince, Chandar Voss, Alderaan





	1. the arrival of the knights

**Author's Note:**

> So, we're back for round two on this fic. I've poked and prodded and changed a lot of the plot, and I like it a lot better than version one: it feels more cohesive to me and I'm very happy. Updates will be every day if possible!
> 
> Title is one of my favorite Richard Siken poems, and one I felt was apt: "Rumpelstiltskin names that are always changing, names that no one's ever able to figure out...We are not traitors but the lights go out."

Their master is waiting.

They can feel him, a surging knot of tangled upheaval in the Force, even before their shuttle comes to rest in the hangar of the _Annihilation_. (The _Supremacy_ is no more. There is no more Snoke: they know this, they have heard it in hushed tones on every planet, seen it broadcast live from the HoloNet. Supreme Leader Snoke is dead, murdered by a half-feral scavenger wielding the lightsaber of Anakin Skywalker, a girl their master—well, that isn't important at the moment, the whys and wheres and hows.)

The largest Dreadnought ever built, surpassing even the _Supremacy_ in size and power, the _Annihilation_ is more of a floating city than a base ship. It can sustain almost half a million life-forms; holds thousands of TIE fighters, is equipped with every single piece of war tech known to man and capable of obliterating half a planet with its air-to-ground cannons.

And it's going to be home for however long the Master of the Knights of Ren decides.

Talla Ren leans over to Obri Ren as the shuttle sweeps in, voice obscured by the slitted breathing apparatus, directly over the mouth of the mask. "I hope they at least have good food. Tatooine sucked bantha ass."

"Can you at least _try_ to act professional?" Obri Ren sounds bored.

"Agreed. It must be important if he's sent for us now." That's Kymber Ren, leaning casually against the curve of the wall without a care in the world for such things as turbulence. The massive vibro-sword is still slung over the long cloak in the back; the mask giving the body a hunched appearance.

Their escorts, masked stormtroopers, don't move, but there's an uneasy sort of energy in the air that the Knights of Ren recognize very well.

"Relax, bucket-head," says Charal Ren, lightly punching the nearest trooper on the arm. He jerks, startled, and Kymber waves a hand, easing him down into placidity. "Force, everyone's on edge. D'you suppose—"

The shuttle comes to a halt, the troopers all stand at attention, and the Knights of Ren automatically gather, two by two and three deep, in the center of the shuttle. In the front: Qore Ren and Obri Ren, the middle; Talla Ren and Kymber Ren; and bringing up the rear, Charal Ren and Kira Ren.

The ramp descends, the shuttle filling with cool, recirculated air, and they march down together, flanked by their white-armored escorts.

Kylo Ren is a maelstrom in the Force. It nearly knocks Kira Ren to one side with the force of it; almost makes Kymber Ren falter in step. He's standing, masked in a mask they have never seen before, a red and black and silver thing; cutting an impressive figure at the foot of the ramp, feet apart, hands clasped in front of him. His clothes are black on black, just like theirs, as always—but clean of dust and dirt, brand new, expensive.

The Knights of Ren halt and split and spread out until they face in in a semi-circle, and they wait.

"Qore Ren," he says, his voice modulated and low. With a nod, the named acknowledges their name before he moves to the next in the circle. "Talla Ren. Charal Ren." Kylo Ren hesitates for the briefest moment. "Kira Ren. Kymber Ren. Obri Ren. It is good that you have come."

"Master," said Obri, and kneels. The rest of them follow suit, and they can feel the impression it makes on the audience they have: every officer and trooper and general and commander awed and just a little frightened at the sight of six warriors cloaked and armored in black, kneeling at the feet of their Supreme Leader.

"Up," he commands. "With me. There is much to discuss."

Obri turns to Charal as they follow their master out of the massive hangar and into a gleaming hall. "Whatever you were about to _suppose_ , I think you might be right."

 

* * *

 

They gather in a private conference room. It's as secure as a tomb: triple locks on the doors, not a single holorecorder, not a single cam.

Kylo heads to the front of the table and faces them around it. "You're wondering why you have been called from your stations," he begins.

He's interrupted by Charal Ren, who undoes the chinstraps on the massive black helmet and takes it off, blinking and wiping her hair out of her eyes. "Hold on," she says disinterestedly. "There's been sand in my karking eye since I got on the shuttle." Her face is flushed with heat, the distinctive gold-and-brown Zabrak markings turned rosy pink at the cheeks. She blinks rapidly and scrunches her nose.

Kylo makes a little grumbly noise through his mask. "This is—"

"Important?" That's Talla Ren, who lifts her own helmet off her head, rubbing her eyes. "What's important is that you get us a massive tank, and I mean a _massive_ tank of caf, and not that watered down trash from the canteen, either. The good stuff. Do you have any idea how long that flight took from Dagobah to the extraction point?"

Obri chuckles and sets her own helmet down, reaching over and giving Talla's long, pale blue lekku an affectionate scratch between the twin humps, over the leather binding she wears. "Darling, you have no idea what a long flight is. Zonama Sekot, now try that," she says, her freckled face creasing in a smile. Her short red hair, shaved close on one side, is all matted to her head with sweat.

"Mmm." Talla flutters her eyelashes at Obri. "I forgot how _sweet_ you are." One head-tail flicks up and swats her hand away. "Not in front of Kylo, though. He's all a-dither."

"I am not—"

Kymber sets her helmet down and glares, her colorless eyes narrowed in her gray-lavender face. "I at least hoped for dinner."

Kylo Ren stomps to the holopad on the wall and furiously keys in something. "Fine." He turns back around. "I've arranged for private rooms for all of you in my wing. I hope that's acceptable."

"Anything with a working commode and running water is acceptable," Qore says. She and Kira haven't removed their helmets. "And a training room."

"Oh, Force, yes," exclaims Kymber. "One with full spectrum lighting options, _please_. You humans and your—"

"I think," says Kira Ren softly, and most of them quiet. Her voice is buzzy, modulated. "I think that we should listen to what Kylo has to say."

In the calm following, the rest of them pick up on what they hadn't been paying attention to—Kylo is dangerously close to a meltdown, and he's upset about something else, worried, even afraid—

"Thank you," he says tonelessly. "The meal will be in shortly. I've called you out of your posts because the First Order needs more guiding hands, and since the unfortunate loss of our previous Supreme Leader, things have been…uneasy."

"Is someone trying to have you killed?" Kira tilts her masked head to the side.

"Possibly. I would be surprised if nobody was. But a show of strength, telling these people without words that I have protection: that might put off the rumors." He inclines his head slightly, indicating all of them.

"What rumors?" asks Kymber.

"There are always rumors," says Kylo, and his voice is even, low in that tone that brooks no argument. "You need not concern yourselves with the details at this time."

There's a chime, and Kylo lets a servitor droid in with the food, the poor thing bustling and hustling around the table to set places and set out the food.

"Aw, you remembered I love marsh-tuber," says Talla, and pretends to blow a kiss to Kylo.

"Of course I did," he says, and looks up for a distraction.

He finds one. Kira's taking her helmet off, her long, tangled locks of dark hair slipping out of the mask, and there's a deep, angry red gash of a scar running from just below her left eye, down her cheek, to her jaw. It's wider at the bottom than it is at the top, and Qore makes a little sympathetic noise. "A new one? Who gave you _that_?"

Kira fixes her with a little look. She looks tired. She always looks tired, with those circles beneath her dark eyes. "He's dead, so it doesn't matter." She reaches across the table and uses the Force to drag the carafe to her, and pours herself a glass of water as the droid exits.

She can sense Kylo Ren's eyes on her, and briefly wonders why he bothers with that stupid mask if he's in the company of other Force-users who can tell what he's—

Kylo stands. "Enjoy the meal. You'll all meet me on the running track on Deck Five above the training room at 0600. Dress for training." He leaves, and the door shuts behind him.

Obri sits back and puts her feet on the table. "Force, I thought he'd never leave."

"He's not telling us something," says Kymber, shoving food into her mouth. "I'll tell you that right now."

"He's allowed to have secrets, he's the Supreme Leader now," Talla reminds her. "Anyway, I've got to tell you about my one and only adventure on Tatooine."

The conversation devolves quickly into what every one of them has been up to since they last saw each other—a year ago, after being dispatched by Snoke. Talla: Tatooine and nothing much else, meditation and food and an encounter with Sand People. Obri: Zonama Sekot, looking for a lost holocron she never found, but she _did_ find several very attractive temple guards (at this, Talla pouts).  Kymber: Dagobah, facing the unbridled Dark in a cave she can't quite remember how to get to. Charal: Corellia, snooping around shipyards. Qore: the underworld of Coruscant, picking up information that's now useless as a third asscheek: Kira, the Outer Rim, jumping planet to planet to spy on the Resistance.

By the time they're all talked out, it's almost 2300 and they have to be up by 0600, so they shove their helmets back on and follow a pair of very nervous officers to their rooms. All six of them are in the same wing of the ship as Kylo Ren, and this unnerves the men for reasons they cannot quite put their fingers on.

The six doors slide shut, and six sets of minds feel it as Kylo Ren's inner turmoil down the hall quiets, then slows, then ceases.

 

* * *

 

 

They're all waiting in their training clothes as Kylo enters the room. It's been blocked off specially for their use every morning from 0600 to 0800.

Kylo isn't wearing his mask.

" _That's_ new, too," says Qore, giving Kira a sidelong glance.

The scar snakes from his cheek down to his neck. It disappears into his black training shirt, a sleeveless thing with panels for wicking away sweat, and his gloved hands tighten on the staff he holds, the only sign of his displeasure.

"Qore. With me. The rest of you take a thirty minute run."

By the time they've circled around back the first time, Qore's on her knees, facing away from Kylo, her dark face straining, teeth bared, as Kylo pulls the staff against her throat. "Out of practice. Again." He releases her, and they can just hear her let out a muffled swear word before they're too far away to make it out.

By the time they're done running, Kylo's been bested four times out of six, and he's sweating. Qore's sweating too, but she looks fiercely proud of herself. Fighting with a staff is her specialty.

He lets her go and do a lap, then calls over Charal. Then Talla.

The rest of them lift the weights in the training room and punch at the bag hanging from the support strut overhead. One by one, they're all called to spar with their master, until the two hours is nearly up and Kira, last, always last, is called.

"Kira. With me."

She obeys, of course: picks up two mock blades and twirls them over her hands before crouching into a defensive stance.

He regards her for a moment, wielding his staff. He's drenched in sweat, chest heaving. He hasn't allowed himself to rest between matches, pushing himself to his limits instead and drawing power from the pain. Kira can feel that as easily as she feels her own aching calves. "I've changed my mind," he says shortly, and tosses the staff against the wall.

She doesn't move. A loose hair tickles her cheek gently, and she reaches up and yanks it out of her scalp.

He calls his saber to his hand, and it crackles to life, burning and spitting scarlet flame.

Without thinking, Kira pulls out her own vibroblades, the real ones: a balanced set she loves and usually keeps concealed somewhere on her person at all times. The scarlet edges hiss to life.

For the first time since they've come to the ship, Kylo Ren lifts the corner of his mouth in the shadow of a smile. "Good," he says, and then lunges.

They whirl back and forth, parrying and stabbing and slashing, blocking and lunging. He does not give her quarter. He doesn't yield an inch.

The others have stopped to watch. "Good to know _some_ things never change," says Obri to Charal under her breath, with an eyebrow lifted.

Kylo Ren hears it, and crosses the line from unyielding to brutal. He bears down hard and Kira blocks, but barely has time to gather herself to push back before his right foot slams into the joint of her pelvis and knocks her to the ground backward.

"Ooh," says Charal, wincing.

Kira's back on her feet before Kylo can bring his blade down, though. He's got three inches on her and easily outweighs her, but she's wiry and quick. She manages to back him into a corner by fighting like a wild animal, drawing on the Force to fuel her speed, until finally she delivers a shocking blow to his gut, kicks the saber out of his hand, and knocks him over, hissing blades at his throat as she sits on his chest. "Yield," she says. Her mouth is pressed thin and her eyes are on fire.

"I yield," he says flatly, and she switches the blades off and immediately gets off him, turning her back to him and scraping loose, damp hair out of her collar.

(It's the only pretty thing about her, the others agree. Long, beautiful hair, almost to her waist, the color of rich caf. It's tied into braids across her head today, and loose hair sticks to her forehead and neck.)

"We're not done yet," he snarls, and she stops in her tracks, but doesn't move.

The meaning is clear. The other five women leave the room, Obri slinging an arm around Talla's waist.

The door hisses shut, and Kira waits for a moment. When he doesn't move, or speak, or order her to do anything, she turns to look at him.

He's just standing there, chest heaving, dripping sweat and staring at her.

"Have I displeased you, Master?" she asks.

Kylo points at her. "Who did that to your face." It's a statement, not a question.

She meets his eyes. "I could ask you the s—"

Kylo is not in the mood. "Who. Did that. To. Your. Face."

Kira slips her tongue across her teeth and nods. "His name was Barro Tytchee. He caught me on..." She can't remember. "Somewhere. He was a bounty hunter. He thought dragging a Knight of Ren to his boss would get him a fair price." Kira looks past Kylo, trying to focus. "He regretted his decision, but not before he got this in," she indicates her face, "with an electro-garrotte. Peeled the skin right off, chin to eye. I'm lucky. Could have been worse."

"You didn't seek medical treatment." His voice is as flat and inflectionless as if he still wore the mask.

"No." Kira brings herself to look back at him. "I didn't have the time, and I didn't care if it scarred."

Kylo looks at her and takes a step forward. "Starkiller," he says, and she doesn't know what he's talking about. "The scavenger. The girl. She did it." _Oh_ , she thinks, and doesn't quite know what to say to that. "With my grandfather's lightsaber."

"The one who killed Snoke? She sounds like a firecracker," Kira says without thinking, and tenses; but Kylo isn't really paying attention.

"I haven't told the others," he says. "We were—bonded. In the Force. I could see her. She could see me—across lightyears."

"A Force-bond?" Kira's intrigued.

"I haven't seen her since the Resistance escaped our grasp on Crait. Not for a year. I asked her—" His lips press together, some emotion curling there. "I asked her to join me. You wouldn't believe her power, Kira. I've never felt anything like it. And she's touched by the dark as well as the light."

"A scavenger," muses Kira. "That isn't so surprising, is it? The Force doesn't discriminate in its choices."

"No," he says. "It does not."

"But she is with the Resistance?" At the word, Kira can sense the vast, untapped well of anger rising somewhere deep inside him: the betrayal, the hurt, the fury. She probes slightly and finds a face: a pretty girl several years younger than them in gray and brown, hazel-eyed and dark-haired, freckled, an expression of disappointment on her face—

" _Stop_ ," he snarls, and his mental walls snap into place, blocking her from seeing any more. "She chose her path. It is far from mine."

Kira realizes she's inadvertently touched something deeply personal, something she wasn't meant to see. "I didn't mean to—"

"You're dismissed," he says coldly.

She bows, picks up her gloves and turns to go. Just before she reaches the door, she pauses. "I won't tell the others," she promises, looking at the floor.

Kylo Ren does not respond.

Kira Ren waits a moment, then pushes open the door, leaving him alone in the training room.


	2. names forgotten and reinvented

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Names fly like birds past his fingers in his dreams: Lahani, Keida, Jana, Charal, Obri, Khaylia. Each girl has two names, and each name means two girls. Separate, different, and at once the same. 
> 
> One name he knows stands out: one name means one girl: straightforward and simple and drowned in Light. 
> 
> Sometimes he cannot remember the name. 
> 
> Sometimes he cannot remember any of the names.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> we're earning our Explicit rating early on this fine Sunday, folks! 
> 
> -Contains a description of vomiting  
> -Contains a graphic description of a male character masturbating to a NonConLite(TM) flavor fantasy

Sometimes Kira dreams about it.

The huts, the furtive sneaking in the firelight from building to building, giggling and whispering.

" _Come on,"_ says Jana-who-isn't-yet-Obri, sixteen, freckled and vivacious, sturdy already. Her hair is long, a shining, heavy mass she keeps pulled back; her learner's braid dangling from behind her ear. " _Master Skywalker will hear us!_ "

Keida isn't Kira yet. She is gangly, fifteen, a head taller than the other girls, awkward and ugly, ten going on thirty, her mother used to say before she left her with Master Skywalker, disapproving lips pressed into a line and did she _ever_ wash her face and why didn't she sit up straight? She follows Jana, half in love with the girl and desperately swearing off commitment at any given chance. She follows her into the hut everyone else is in, the older kids. She's not the youngest there, but she's one of them.

" _What's the game?"_ asks Wirren. He's Keida's age and already handsome, with perfect hair and unblemished skin. She hates him with all the passion a teenage girl can possess; Jana flirts with him all the time. Everyone's sitting in a circle and Keida takes her seat next to Jana.

" _Spin the canteen,"_ whispers someone, and Jana groans and laughs in the resulting snickers and giggles. The only light is the fire. " _You can't use the Force to cheat, either."_ Someone puts an empty canteen in the center and spins it, and the mouth points toward another person. There's giggling, and more noises, and the person who spun it quickly kisses the person it's pointing to.

Keida wishes she'd sat across from Jana instead of beside her.

It's her turn, and she pokes her tongue out between her lips, heart pounding as she holds the canteen. She's never kissed anyone before. The prospect is terrifying. She doesn't want it to not be Jana. She wants it to be Jana more than anything in the world. She wonders if the Force will somehow understand her deep, true love, and the universe will make the canteen point at her, and she wants it so badly that for a moment she almost believes this will happen, so that when she spins, she knows it with every fiber of her being. It will land on Jana, and she will kiss her and fireworks will go off and they will be in love.

The mouth of the canteen comes to a stop. It doesn't point at Jana.

The mouth points across the circle and slightly to the right (how strange, that she can remember these details from over a decade ago) directly at Tym, a boy much older than her—older than most of the other students, at least twenty-one—with beady, cruel eyes and a thin mouth who bullies most of the other boys—but only when Master Skywalker isn't looking. Keida once watched him fling a thirteen-year-old into a tree with the Force and leave him there for hours in the dark. She had cut him down later, and helped him back to his hut, and the boy's arms and legs had been numb.

Keida remembers her stomach dropping into her gut and her whole body going cold. _Anything but that,_ she thinks, horrified. Someone laughs. Someone else makes kissy noises. Tym is leering at her, and she thinks she might throw up, and before she knows what's happening suddenly her mouth is watering and she leaps up and runs from the tent, just making it to the brush before she's bent double, clinging to a tree and emptying her stomach onto the forest floor.

Once she's finished, she comes up for air, panting and grabbing at the tree branch, humiliated, praying she won't vomit again. Tears are streaking down her face, and her stomach is roiling. She hears the tent flap swish, and hopes Jana didn't see her lose it.

But it's not Jana. It's Luke's weird nephew, Ben Solo. She can see the outline of his big ears in silhouette, and his odd, stiff gait, like he isn't used to is long legs and arms quite yet.

" _Hi_ ," he says awkwardly as he reaches the tree. " _I’m Ben_."

" _I'm sick_ ," she says, gesturing to the ground. " _Not a good time_."

" _I know_ ," he says. " _I did it_."

" _Did what?"_

 _"Made you hurl_." He shrugs apologetically.

 _"What?"_ Keida squints at him. _"Why?"_

 _"Because Tym is a bantha's ass with poodoo for brains,"_ he says, and she can sense some personal issue behind his words. _"And you didn't want to kiss him, and it's a stupid game anyway. And... I know you cut Eryk down out of the tree."_

 _"Oh,"_ she says. " _Thanks, then_." Ben is a weird kid with a penchant for being alone, but plenty of the older boys give him hell anyway. Tym's sure to be one of them. She knows he gets mocked for his ears, for his mother's title (" _oh, look, the **prince** is here_," she remembers someone muttering as Ben walked into morning meditation one day), for his nose, for his moles. " _I’m Keida."_

 _"I know_ ," he says. " _You have a crush on Jana."_

" _Does everyone know?"_ she demands, face flushed with heat.

 _"No,"_ he says firmly. " _Just me._ "

" _Super extra Force perception?"_ she says.

He flicks a glance at her, as if to discern whether or not she's mocking him, but once he realizes she's not, he shrugs _. "Something like that."_ He almost looks angry, although she hasn't given him a reason to be upset. Maybe he's not angry, and that's just his face. He has the strangest face, long and dour and awkward and dotted with moles; it's hard to figure out what he's feeling and thinking, especially because he constantly has a wall up around his mind. Nobody really knows what to make of him. He's eighteen and he's weird and he doesn't have any friends.

_"Oh. Well. Thanks for the—"_

" _Hey!"_ hisses a voice from the tent. They both turn. Some jumped-up fifteen year old is pointing at them. " _Ben and Keida are out here together!"_

" _We're not—_ " Keida snaps, infuriated, and then Tym comes out of the tent with the rest of the group following.

She never can remember what happened after that. She remembers Tym bellowing at Ben that he'd cheated at the game—Tym's fist slamming into Ben's stomach—Ben flipping up on his feet and Force-slamming Tym into the ground. Jana had bellowed in outrage at Tym's attack, and flung herself into the middle of the fight. At some point both girls had laid into Tym, kicking and clawing and shouting, and then Tym's friends had joined in: it became an all-out brawl, the game forgotten, and Master Skywalker had come running and separated them and given them all latrine duty for a week and endless lectures on the perils of attachment and emotional outbursts.

But from that day forward, Jana and Keida stick by Ben's side.

There is a time—maybe a few weeks later. Nayri-who-isn't-Qore-yet knocks down a boy, a boy her age, eighteen and strong, who was taunting Ben. Ben tersely thanks her. Nayri tells Jana, and Jana tells Khaylia (who isn't Talla yet) that they should keep an eye out for Ben, and of course Keida agrees because if Jana is doing something she is in, a hundred percent. Then Keida asks Tyoth (who isn't yet Charal) to join, and she agrees, because she has a bit of a crush on Khaylia.

Really stupid, when Kira looks at it in retrospect. He was huge, even as a teenager; over six feet tall by the time he was seventeen and able to lift more than his own body weight. He could have easily taken care of himself. But they had appointed themselves his friends, and it was an unspoken thing that had passed between them; some adolescent mystery of social behavior that went entirely unquestioned by everyone else.

They joke around with him, call him a poodoo-brain and puff out their chests and tell him he'd never survive if it wasn't for them. He starts learning to smile.

Lahani-who-isn't-yet-Kymber finds him one night, maybe a year? Two years after? Kira can't remember—in the outlying forests (she was the only one who could see in the dark) and he confesses to her that he hears a voice in his mind sometimes, a voice called Snoke talking to him through the Force, and that it tells him things he can't believe are true—that he is destined to carry on the legacy of Darth Vader.

Lahani tells him to stay there, and she comes and drags Jana and Keida out of bed and takes them directly to him.

Keida never forgot how he'd cried, trying to hide it like a little boy. " _We can't tell Master Luke_ ," Jana insists, eyes wide.

" _He's afraid of me,_ " Ben tells them, face tear-stained. " _I know he is. I know it._ "

" _No, he can't be,"_ Keida says. _"He's your uncle. He wouldn't be afraid of you."_

 _"Snoke says he's going to try to kill me,"_ Ben tells her, and the fear is real.The two girls look at each other.

 _"We won't let him,"_ Jana says firmly. " _Never. Not ever."_

They find out that Leia and Luke's father was Darth Vader after that. Kira can't remember the precise date, but she knows she must have been twenty, because Ben was twenty-three, and Jana was twenty-one; she'd just had her birthday.

They find out in the worst way possible: on the HoloNet during their morning meal. They're sitting with Ben at his table, half-awake and shoveling in porridge, and a girl starts screaming.

Just screaming. High-pitched, constant, steady screaming: and she is looking at the HoloNet screen on the wall, where the headline is flashing in enormous red letters over a picture of Ben's mother. Kira remembers feeling Ben go taut as a coil, in shock, horrified: remembers his knuckles gripping his spoon and going white.

Master Skywalker rushes in at the noise and sees the screen and immediately flips it off, but the damage is already done. The Force is boiling over inside Ben. The children are all freaking out, some of them looking at Ben in terror, and Khaylia grabs Ben by the shoulder and whispers, _Ben, stop it, you're scaring the kids_ , and he lurches out of her hands and staggers to the garbage receptacle and gets sick, right there in front of everyone, a grown man.

The look on Luke Skywalker's face as he stares at his nephew will haunt them all as long as they live.

It's about a month later when they're woken out of a dead sleep by the sound of screaming.

It's not the high-pitched, hysterical screaming of a child. It's Ben, and he's terrified for his life, and as they rush out of their dorms along with the other kids Keida can see him outside the crumbled remains of his hut—it's imploded, and he's unhinged in terror, grasping his saber with both hands.

Several of the older students have reached him. He cuts them down without even seeing them, panic threatening to choke him.

Jana grabs Keida. _"Get your karking saber_ ," she gasps, and Keida has never seen Jana this terrified.

They can feel Ben through the Force. He's a hurricane. A nightmare.

" _You son of a Sith whore!_ " screams Tym, a full-grown man now and built like a bantha, and starts racing for Ben, saber alight and humming. He thinks he'll stop it. Keida can sense his thoughts. He thinks he'll cut down the scion of Vader where he stands, destroy him forever, and be a hero.

He never reaches Ben.

Keida doesn't even think. She hears herself screaming, _NO, STOP,_ and her own blade is out already and Tym passes her and her blade, emerald green, goes into his neck and he's dead, dead, dead. Face-down, blond hair ruffling in the night breeze over the charred hole in his throat. She can't stop looking at him. She kicks him and throws her saber to the ground, and sits there beside the body of a boy she hated, and waits for it to be over.

When it is over, everything is on fire. Ben is staggering past corpses, shaking, pale as a ghost; like he can't believe what he's done.

 _"He tried to kill me,"_ he says through numb lips.

" _Luke?"_ says Keida, and knows he's telling the truth. She can feel his anger, his horror, his pain. " _I believe you."_

Ben sinks down, elbows and knees akimbo. He's still clutching his saber, the shimmering blue blade sparking. Keida remembers wondering if there was something wrong with the housing. " _I hate him_ ," he gasps, and the blade crackles. " _I **hate** him."_

" _What are we going to do?"_ Jana asks, and Keida can see the rest of them all standing in a circle: Tyoth, Nayri, Khaylia, Lahani. Nayri's dark face is streaked with tears and sweat, gleaming in the firelight.

Ben pushes himself to his feet: at two inches taller than Keida, he looms above them. " _You swear you'll be loyal to me?"_ he asks.

" _Yes,"_ says Jana instantly.

" _Yes,"_ says Tyoth.

They all say yes, and the last one to pledge is Keida. Last, always last. She thinks of her blade in Wirren's throat and throws her lightsaber to the ground. She never picks it up again. She leaves it there to rust away in the dirt, and the mud, and the fire. _"Yes,"_ she says.

He wipes his eyes with the back of his hand. His saber crackles again, flashes of scarlet turning the blade brief washes of purple before it flickers and blooms into crimson light, sparking like lightning is held in the crystal housing, as if any moment it might shatter. His face is drenched in blood-colored light, and his eyes are on fire.

" _We're going to Snoke,"_ he says.

Kira does not care to remember what came after that.

 

* * *

 

Sometimes, Kylo Ren dreams.

His dreams are far less coherent than his memories. A darkened hut, a surge of hatred for a bully and compassion for a girl, Luke's admonishment, the hut collapsing in fire and ruin, a hut blowing apart as Luke bellowed and he tried to reach for a girl's face—but which hut was which? Names fly like birds past his fingers in his dreams: Lahani, Keida, Jana, Charal, Obri, Khaylia. Each girl has two names, and each name means two girls. Separate, different, and at once the same. One name he knows stands out: one name means one girl: straightforward and simple and drowned in Light. Sometimes he cannot remember the name. Sometimes he cannot remember any of the names.

Tonight? Ah, tonight he lies awake, remembering.

Stealing a transport from the burned out Academy, flying to the Unknown Regions with his pack of loyal quasi-apprentices. He remembers how Khaylia tried to sing for them until her voice failed, how Lahani sat silently in the back, smooth head bent, moving her hands and her lips in quick, precise movements. _What are you doing_? asks Jana.

 _Praying_ , says Lahani tersely, through lips so pale they seem to glow.

 _To who_? asks Nayri.

 _Anything,_ says Lahani.

He remembers how cold he was, how he shivered in the pilot's seat until Tyoth had brought him a thick blanket from the cargo hold and draped it around his shoulders, her gentle hands tucking him in. _Don't freeze your balls off,_ she had tried to joke, but the smile hadn't reached her eyes, and fear rolled off her like a stink.

He remembers getting sick in the tiny 'fresher, knuckles white on the rim, bile splashing into the commode.

He remembers Keida, sitting all alone in the back of the transport, staring at the wall with a blank look on her face, her death-grip on the seat.

 _That one is trouble_ , says Snoke gently in his mind. Gentle, so gentle, like a father who's not angry, just disappointed. _That one and your Nayri. Strong-willed, the both of them, but too Light-sided, too weak._

" _They're not weak_ ," he says through his teeth, and Jana gives him a quick look, but says nothing.

Snoke had been silent thereafter, until they had reached the Unknown Regions and Ben was forced to guide the craft in to land in a bay on a massive asteroid, bleak and huge and grey.

He doesn't like to remember what happened next.

He'd rather think about Rey.

 _Rey_ , he thinks, lying in his bed, and propels his mind far away from the asteroid and Snoke and the terror and pain, away from the memories of burncords and garrotes and mind games. No. Rey. Rey, the source of all his fury and frustration and anger and loathing and wanting and desperation and desire—Rey is far more entertaining to think about. He puts up a barrier in his mind so the Knights won't sense it, and indulges himself in his favorite fantasy.

He finds her somewhere, in the heat of some battle on a world with light and water. He imagines pinning her against a wall, a cliff, a tree, maybe by the throat. Yes. That pale throat with his black-gloved hand around it. Of course he won't choke her, but she'll be defiant at first, spitting at him and squirming against his body, trapped. _Let me go_ , she'll demand. _Let me go, you monster._

He won't let her go. He'll use the Force to pin her there, perhaps, and begin to exact punishment on her for all the humiliation he's suffered, all the pain, all the betrayal and hate and loss. He'll dive into her innermost mind, and tear out all her most secret memories; find her weak spots and crush them like insects. At some point, of course, she'll cry out, _why_? _Why are you doing this_?

He'll say, _for the hope. For the hope you gave me, and ripped out of my grasp again. Because you left me, just like everyone leaves._

_Because you mattered._

He'll kiss her, then. He'll devour her, and she'll give in at last and kiss him back, because she'll understand. She's seen his innermost being, as he's seen hers. She'll know. He'll slide his hands beneath those layers of rags and crepe-wool and sand-bindings, and finally discover all of her, every inch.

He likes to think she has freckles on her shoulders, like she does on her nose. She'll have a flat-planed, lean little body from barely enough food and physical labor. A round, firm backside. He'll bite his gloves off and slide his hands up her bare, lean thighs, and—

Kylo Ren's fist begins to lazily move, stroking up and down the length of his swollen cock.

(He hasn't done this in years. The knowledge that Snoke was lurking in his mind was enough of a detriment that he'd barely ever even thought about sex for the past decade, certainly never coming close to touching himself. Morning erections were usually ignored: dealt with under very cold showers. Now that Snoke was out of the way—well.)

Rey would gasp and shiver beneath him, and he'd stroke her with his thumb, making sure she was ready before burying himself in her in one stroke, and she'd cry out, of course, and he'd cover her mouth with his hand, to make sure nobody heard. She'd be—well, Kylo Ren doesn't really know what she'd feel like, but he's sure she'd feel at least twice as good as his hand. No callouses, for one thing. Slick, certainly, and warmer than the chilly lubricant he uses. He'll drag her down to the ground and he won't stop, not until she's wrung out and exhausted from his cock, and he's going to make her come until she can't anymore, and then and only _then_ is he going to let himself—

Kylo Ren's whole body tenses and he silently comes, his right hand frantically pumping and his left hand holding the disposable sani-wipe to catch the mess. Once he's finished, he lets himself breathe for a moment, then tosses the wipe into the wall incinerator before collapsing into bed and staring at the black ceiling, listening to his heart rate slow as he drifts off into an uneasy sleep, dreaming of round hazel eyes and freckles.


	3. still on fire

The rules are laid out fairly clearly.

Kylo Ren is accompanied by at least two of the Knights at all times. They must be masked when on duty. He'd prefer it if they not fraternize with the officers ("You mean 'sororize' right?" asks Qore, and fist-bumps Obri) but it's not a concrete order. When they're not on duty, they're free to train, or study in the extensive library on board, or use the entertainment facilities.

It's been a hot minute since any of them have had any leisure time, so Kira heads off to the library when she's not standing around behind Kylo in meetings. Qore finds the onboard greenhouse and starts learning about plants, poisons, herbs. Talla figures out how to rig the training room for acrobatics, and spends her time doing handsprings, balancing, swinging from parallel bars.

Exactly one idiot of an officer pokes his head in to make a crude comment, to call her _exotic._

Kylo ends up having to personally identify the body by identitags. It's a bit of a sensation, and for several weeks there are no whispers at all about either the Supreme Leader's capability or the capability of his terrifying all-female guards.

Obri gets caught by Charal one morning as she's furtively sneaking out of an officer's room.

"What are you _doing_?" Charal hisses.

Obri adjusts her hastily-thrown-on black coat and shrugs. "What?"

"We're not supposed to—"

"This is intel gathering," said Obri, and stretches her quads against the wall. "Oof. Captain Phasma is extremely knowledgeable about the movements of General Hux, and was more than willing to tell me exactly how he feels about the Supreme Leader."

"And that is?" Charal crosses her arms.

"He hates his guts, is what it is." The redhead stretches her thick arms and puffs her cheeks out. "Force, that woman's big. I thought she was gonna break me in half."

"You," says Charal, "are going to get yourself in trouble one day because you can't watch where you put your hands."

"Or my mouth," says Obri, and winks. "I think she hates Hux about as much as Hux hates Kylo."

"How do you—do I want to know how you know that?"

Obri gestures to her hair, nearly the same shade as the General's, and Charal covers her eyes. "I'm kinda bruised, actually."

"I literally hate you so karking much."

Obri Ren grins. "I'm going straight to breakfast. You tell Kylo I said hi."

 

* * *

 

As the weeks pass, they notice Kylo Ren is becoming by turns morose and agitated; losing his concentration in training, then taking it out on the bag; misspeaking in meetings, then moping about it for hours afterward. The whispers start back up, and Hux is beginning to look hungry.

It's becoming clear that something's bothering the Supreme Leader, and none of them want to make the first move to approach him.

Then he goes and locks himself in his 'fresher while Kymber and Talla are on guard duty one day.

"He won't come out," says Kymber to Qore, her white skin even whiter, the shadows purplish-gray. "I don't know what to do."

"We should get Obri—or Kira—" Talla is wringing her hands.

Kira and Obri round the corner, alerted already by the panic-shift in the Force that links them all, _come quick!_ "What's going on?" Obri asks.

"I don't know. It's been three hours. He's never done this. We can't alert the Order, they'll eat this up." Talla looks pale, her skin gone from sky-blue to a washed out cold color.

"Kylo," calls Obri, knocking on the door.

" _Go away!_ " he screams, and there's a catch in his voice, a definite sob there.

"Is he _crying_?" hisses Kymber to Kira.

Kira pushes up beside Obri. "Kylo. You've been in there for three hours. If you don't open the door, we're breaking it down."

There's silence from behind the door for a breath, a moment; then it's slipping open, pushed by the Force, and Kylo's revealed; sitting on the floor, half-dressed. His head is between his knees, encircled by his arms.

"Thank you," says Kira.

He doesn't move. "Obri Ren," he says, half-muffled. "You are dismissed. Talla Ren, Kymber Ren. Resume your guard duties."

"Yes, Master," they say, all exchanging glances of confused surprise, and make off.

Kira stays where she is, standing in front of the door.

He waits until the door to the hall is closed before pulling his head out of his arms and looking up at her.

"Is this about that girl?" Kira asks, crossing her arms. "The one who gave you that scar and stole your grandfather's lightsaber?"

Kylo puts his head back down. Every line of him is abject misery personified. He looks like he wants the floor to open under him.

Kira leans against the doorframe and waits.

"I can't stop thinking about her," he says, and his voice is low, shaky. "She could have killed me. Did I tell you that?"

"No," she says.

"We were fighting for the saber on the _Supremacy_ when it was destroyed," Kylo says, as if telling a story he's told to only himself. "I saw her reaching out and the saber shattered, the light tearing out—the crystal sheared, and I think—I think it knocked me out. When I woke up, I was alive. Hux was standing over me. And my saber was clipped to my belt." He peers up at her again. " _My_ saber. It was—I'd left it halfway across the room."

Kira nods, realizing. "She must have found it in the aftermath and made sure it was with you, then."

"She had every opportunity to kill me," he tells her. "But she didn't."

"Maybe there's hope, then," Kira says. "Maybe she'd be receptive to coming here—as a guest. Not a prisoner."

"She's not an idiot," says Kylo.

"You don't like idiots, so I gathered that," Kira says dryly, and squats down. "If you really want this girl—I can arrange something. It's not even going to matter that she killed Snoke if you don't want it to—you're the Supreme Leader, and—"

"Kira," he says, and he's pale, his nose and eyes red and wet.

"Yes?"

"She didn't kill Snoke." Every word is torn out of his throat as if by force.

Kira blinks at him, stunned. All her thoughts have been replaced by blinding white static, like a bad holoscreen, and her body realizes what he's said before her mind does—in one movement she's across the fresher with her vibro-blade out, spitting and hissing an inch from her master's throat with the other hand knotted into his hair, yanking him back.

He doesn't even try to fight it. He just sits there, throat exposed, staring up at her.

" _You_?" She can't believe her ears. " _You_ killed _Snoke_?"

"Yes," he says, tired.

"You betrayed him! You lied! You _lied_ to us, to _me,_ to—to—" Kira is so angry her words aren't coming out. "You _lied!_ "

"Yes, I did," he tells her. Something in the way he's gazing up at her unsettles her—as if he would like nothing more than to be killed right here on the floor of the 'fresher by Kira's hand.

So she gets off him, yanks her hand out of his hair and switches the vibroblade off. "Why did you kill him?"

"For her," he says simply, like there's no explanation needed, and there are tears welling in his stupid eyes and Kira wishes she _could_ kill him, right here, right now. "For her."

"I assume you asked her to join you after you killed him?" Kira is still glaring at him.

"Yes. Was that...should I not have?"

Kira groans inwardly. "Was she focused on _you?_ Nothing else she thought might be more important?"

"The Resistance," he tells her. "She was—going on about the fleet, the escaping Resistance. They were heading for Crait. I told her to let the past _die_ —"

"You," Kira says, closing her eyes, "are a grade-A, poodoo-brained moof-milker."

Kylo's face darkens. "You can't talk to me like that. I'm the Supreme L—"

She opens her eyes and glares at him, and he silences for once. "You told her to let her friends _die_. How would you like it if someone tried to seduce _you_ to work with them and told you to let Obri die? Or Charal?"

Kylo looks shocked for a moment, then sullen. "She needed to learn—"

"That's not your call to karking make." Kira crosses her arms. "You don't know the first thing about any of this."

"Any of what?"

She stands up and waves her hands, pacing slightly. "This! Getting someone to trust you. Seduction, if you want to call it that. You _don't_ start with saying 'oh, go on and let all your friends die so you can join me and rule the galaxy, how's that for a deal?' to a girl you've known for all of what, a _month_?"

"So how do I—" He turns red. "How do I gain trust?"

"I'd start with apologizing for kriffing it all up and telling her that if she wants to never, ever see you again, you understand perfectly and you will respect her wishes." Kira leans against the counter.

"But I don't want her to never want to see me again." Kylo stands up, and Kira rolls her eyes.

"It doesn't matter what _you_ want when you're trying to gain trust. If I've got a vine-tiger cub in the bush that I'm trying to get to come to me, I don't pounce on it. I crouch and hold out my hand with something enticing on it and I wait for as long as the vine-tiger decides I need to. You are me. Your scavenger is the vine-tiger cub."

"Rey," he says, and she can almost taste the light as he speaks her name. "Her name is Rey."

"Rey, then," she tells him, pushing that disconcerting little taste away for a moment. He's always been a conflicted storm of light and dark, but this girl—when he thinks of her, light outshines the dark.

"The others don't know," he says.

"They know you're hiding something," she informs him. "And they know you trust me with things."

Kylo goes touchy and brittle again. "I can trust who I want," he snaps. "And you'd do well to remember that."

Kira's slightly emboldened, and decides to push it. "I do remember it, Master. I also remember that the Master of the Knights of Ren is supposed to treat all of his guard _equally_ , with—"

Kylo's hand flashes out and he grasps her by the upper arm. He's not wearing his customary gloves, and she stiffens at the unexpected contact. His hands are warm and rough and big, and she's hyperaware that if he pleased, he could snap her humerus like a matchstick. "You," he says very softly, inches from her face, "are dismissed, Kira Ren."

"Yes, Master," she says, and yanks her arm out of his hand, glaring him in the face, before she turns and leaves his quarters.

 

* * *

 

"He did _what_?"

Obri is stunned, really and truly stunned at Kira's revelation. They're in the training room, and Obri can feel sweat trickling down her back under the training top she wears. It feels very distant, very far away compared to Kira's long and dour face above her.

"I know." Kira looks unsettled, and Obri can sense it. "But if he's telling the truth, if he killed _Snoke_ for this girl—"

"He's completely hopeless," says Obri, disgusted.

"I was going to say the Force is at work here trying to drag them together and he keeps messing up the execution, but okay, that too." Kira narrows her eyes at Obri. "I haven't told anyone else yet. I'm not sure what I _should_ do."

"Good." Obri wipes her forehead. "I'll tell them. We'll keep it to ourselves. Do you think this is why Hux wants him dead?"

"Possibly. Kylo wasn't even an official part of the Order. Hux is a general and he wants power, that's obvious to anyone with eyes, let alone the Force. You remember what happened to Admiral Sloane. If I was him, I'd want Kylo dead and out of the way too." Kira hefts up a staff and gives it a practice whirl, the lean muscles in her scarred arms standing out. "And if I was Kylo, I'd want as many Force-users around me as possible. Even if one of them might be a scavenger."

Obri stares at her. "For Force's sake, _please_ do not tell me you're thinking of hunting this girl down and bringing her here."

"Don't be stupid. If she's as powerful as Kylo seems to think she is, I'd be dead meat." Kira sets the staff down and hesitates, glancing at Obri. "I _did_ think about it. For a moment. I offered. He just…wallowed." She picks up a throwing knife and tosses it in her hand from side to side.

Obri snorts. "So we bring him someone to distract him. Big deal. I know several _very_ nice escort agencies based off Corellia—"

"We are not paying someone to sleep with our master," says Kira.

"If you want him to stop moping—"

"I want him to stop being _weak_!" Kira snaps, and hurls the blade across the room, where it sinks into a man-shaped target, quivering with a _thunk_ directly in the center of the body. "How is he supposed to handle traitors in the ranks when he can barely function?"

"Isn't that our job now? And besides, there's nothing wrong with sex work—"

"That's not what I'm saying." Kira sits down on the nearest exercise ball and glares. "Getting an escort will not solve the damned problem, Obri. It might temporarily distract him, which I doubt it _will_ do, but after that, he goes right back to locking himself in freshers like a heartsick teenage boy. I know this is shocking news _,_ but not _everyone's_ problems are solved by having sex."

The stunned hurt on Obri's face at the jab quickly changes to anger. "Kark you," she snarls, snatching up her towel. "Maybe if you had a tumble in the sheets more than once a year, you'd learn how to not be a giant sack of Hutt shit."

"Obri—"

She's not finished. "Oh, and I've changed my mind. _You_ can tell the others whatever you want. I'm done sticking my neck out for you. If you want to betray the Supreme Leader's trust, go right ahead."

The other woman storms out of the training room, and Kira watches her go, feeling as if she's had the air knocked out of her lungs. She hadn't meant to say that. It had just slipped out. _I'm sorry_ , she tries to tell Obri through the Force, but her thoughts bank up against a perfect wall in Obri's mind. She's blocked her out.

Kira buries her fingers in her hair and bends forward, screaming into her lap in frustrated anger. _Find weaknesses,_ hisses Snoke in her memories. _Use them, exploit them, and you will always win._

Of course he had been right. He was always right. "Kark you, you bantha's asshole!" she spits. She leaps up and snatches the staff to her hand again with the Force, and immediately engages in beating the absolute hell out of the dummy at hand.

There's a very small part of her that's relieved that Snoke is dead, and another even smaller part that's _glad_ that Kylo killed him.

It terrifies her to her core.

She doesn't stop until the dummy is destroyed, the microbeads spilling onto the floor in a hissing waterfall, and only after the thing topples to the ground and the repair droids start scurrying in does she leave the room.


	4. technically, it was a rescue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Contains passing mentions of or a reference to: disordered eating, internalized aphobia, animal death. None of them are described graphically or in much detail.

Obri Ren never forgets the first time she laid eyes on Supreme Leader Snoke.

They had filed into the great throne room behind Ben, huddling close to each other for safety. The place was as cold and dank as a sea-cave, the light streaming in from the cavernous heights thin and pale. And Snoke had been there: a being robed in black and grey, bald and beady-eyed with half his face sunken in, sitting on a high throne carved from shining black rock thousands of years old, looking down at them all.

Ben had immediately knelt, and they had all followed suit, not knowing what was expected of them. "Snoke," he'd whispered, his voice shaking. Obri remembers the relief that had poured into him— _finally, finally—_ and Snoke had risen and made his way down the steps, laying one large hand on Ben's head as if in blessing.

 _Don't touch him_ , Obri-who-was-then-Jana sensed Nayri thinking, and caught the girl's hands tightening at her sides, her hackles raised.

Snoke had heard it too. Snoke always heard. "Ah, his faithful companions," he'd purred. "Always so protective. Never fear. Your friend is safe with me."

"Snoke would never hurt me," Ben whispers, and he's looking at Snoke as if the man holds all the secrets to the universe.

"That's right." Snoke sweeps over to Nayri. "And I know you all. So dear to him, yes. Nayri b'Ya, of Corellia, isn't it?" Her dark face goes ashen, even in the dim light. "You love to protect the weak, don't you? But always combative, always suspicious. Even of your own mother, of your father, of Skywalker. It has served you well. You will learn to use it in ways you never dreamed, with me."

He goes to Khaylia, then; the Twi'lek is trembling visibly, but staring him right in the eyes. "Khaylia Kilvaari, of Ryloth. So full of fear, so gentle and sensitive. Fear…that you will never be able to put aside your emotions, to become a warrior like you always dreamed. But fear can be turned to anger, in the right way, can't it? And anger to hatred, and hatred to power. You have great promise, child. I will teach you how."

It's Jana's turn, and she can't even look at him. She stares straight ahead, into the black walls, and pretends he isn't there. He leans down and his breath is foul, and the Force is boring into her mind like a mining drill, and she can't stop him or shut him out and then he's cutting her to the heart. "Jana Ordo. Always ignoring the true matters, always pretending you are blind to yourself, to everyone around you. Using pleasure to drown out the misery. Quick to anger, quick to forgive. You will learn to unleash the fire, young one. You'll learn to use it."

Snoke moves to Lahani, and attempts to look into the darkest parts of her mind for all of them to hear about.  There's a slight moment where she's resisting him, actually _resisting_ him, and he loses his temper and hurls blue-and-white Force-lightning from the floor into her body. "I will not tolerate _rebellion_ in my _ranks!_ " he bellows in fury as she writhes on the floor, white against the black stone.

"Don't touch her," says a voice, and there's Keida, stepping forward and crouching over Lahani, actually defying Snoke, _defying_ him—

"Keida, _stop_ ," snaps Ben, and Snoke ignores him, staring into Keida's face with something resembling greed. After a brief moment, he addresses Ben without looking at him.

"Your friends will learn their place," he says coolly as Lahani sits up, her hands trembling. "We must be lenient, after all…for a time." He settles himself slightly, never removing his gaze from Keida. "I am merciful, after all. I will not use the Force to peer into your mind. No. I sense you are talented in the art of reading minds, looking at memories. Use it to look into _theirs_ —" he indicates Lahani and Tyoth—"and tell me what you see. Tell me their weaknesses. Hold nothing back."

Keida looks shocked. "No," she says automatically. "I won't."

"Stubborn," Snoke chides, and pounds his staff on the floor, sending a torrent of electricity surging through Ben, who is flung four feet away from his kneeling position and crumples on the floor with a howl of agony. "I won't wait all day, child."

Keida moves as if to strike him, but is frozen in place by the Force. "Stop!" she screams, struggling to move. "Just _stop_ it!"

Obri remembers what came after. How Keida, tears pouring down her face with her teeth gritted together, pulled secret after secret from Lahani's mind as she screamed and recited them woodenly to the whole room, to the tune of Ben's cries of pain. Lahani has never felt attraction to another person and thinks there must be something wrong with her. Lahani's father beat her as a child for her Force-assisted mischief. Lahani purposefully restricts her food intake out of terror that she will never be a good enough Jedi, that she is not ascetic enough, because the lack of attraction can't possibly _count_ if she doesn't _struggle_ with it, can it?

And then Snoke forced Keida to move on to Tyoth, and Tyoth resists her but can't stop her, and all her deepest insecurities and horrible secrets come pouring out of Keida's mouth: _you believe you're more attuned to the Dark and it terrifies you; you killed a Loth-cat when you were three because you tried to use the Force to catch it and didn't know what you were doing until it was too late and the poor thing was dead of suffocation; you once told you own father you hated him; you burned down a shed because you were angry at your mother; you think you might be a psychopath._

When Keida is done, Snoke releases her and stops the flow of crackling energy surging through Ben's body. There's a horrible silence, and then Snoke rips into Keida's mind without warning.

Keida screams and screams until she's hoarse, but Snoke pulls everything out of her mind all the same, dangling bits and pieces in front of everyone like dolls on strings. "Keida Searunner, of Lah'mu. Born to useless parents and their useless farm on a useless planet—but _you_ weren't useless, were you, child? Floating before you could walk, lifting heavier things than your father by the time you were four. You always feared your mother sent you away because she feared you, your power: the power of an eleven year old girl. But not even Skywalker could make you perfect, could he? Not even he could cleanse the darkness from your soul. Oh, I see it. I see the rage."

Obri remembers how she desperately wanted to scream at him to stop it, but was so afraid of him turning on her that she'd kept silent, stonily staring at the floor and pretending she couldn't hear.

_That was someone else. Not me. It was Jana. Jana was weak. It wasn't me. It wasn't._

Once he's done detailing everything awful about Keida as a person ( _too Light-sided, weak, insecure, clingy, pathetic)_ he turns to Ben, who's on his knees again, head bowed, and directs him to take his charges away.

(Obri wants to snap, _Keida's not weak; she's stronger than all the rest of us._ She never says it.)

On the way out, they're accosted by black-garbed guards and separated. That’s when the real training begins: when they're all stripped bare of their secrets and at their lowest, when they're all humiliated and silently loathing each other and themselves.

Even though the official initiation and renaming wasn't until months later, that's when they all really became the Knights of Ren.

 

* * *

 

"If I have to eat any more of this slop for breakfast," says Charal, shoving her bowl of gruel away, "I’m going to kill everyone in the kitchen."

"Just put some sugar on it," says Talla, rolling her eyes and giving Obri a look. Obri grins back.

"It's not the taste, it's the texture." The Zabrak lifts her spoon out and lets it fall dramatically back into the bowl with a _plop_. Kymber hides a smile. "If I wanted to eat bacta, I'd—"

Without warning, the alert sirens in their cafeteria go off, wailing, as orange lights begin to flash.

All four of them leap to their feet and cram their helmets on, breakfast forgotten, and race out, down the corridor.

"Finally something's karking _happening_ ," gasps Talla.

Kira and Qore are with Kylo this morning, so the others rush to the bridge and immediately take their places flanking the Supreme Leader, masked and cloaked in black.

"Morning," says Kira from behind her mask. Obri cautiously opens her mind, and hears _I'm sorry about the other night. I didn't mean it._

Obri hates talking about her feelings. _Don't sweat it. Let's focus on the situation._ "What's going on?" Obri pats her blaster, as if to make sure it's still there.

"Resistance. Surprise attack out of nowhere. Our shields were up, fortunately, but we've sustained heavy damage to our TIE squadrons."

"How many ships?" Talla peers over the edge of the catwalk and down to the screens below, where officers are sitting frantically shouting commands.

"We don't know yet. Several squadrons of X-wings and a command ship, it looks like—"

A blast rumbles through the _Annihilation_ , and Kylo Ren turns. "They're targeting the main reactor," he snarls. "Get those TIEs out there _now_!"

A chorus of _yes, sir_ 's answer him, and within a minute more TIE's are streaking out of the bays, firing emerald bolts at the X-wings skittering across the massive bow of the ship, visible through the transparisteel viewport that curves around the bridge. Beyond the furthermost point, the command ship looms, pale in the light from the distant star in their quadrant.

The ship shakes again, and Kylo's fist clenches as fighter after fighter explodes into bursts of flame, extinguished instantly by the vacuum of space. "General Hux," he snaps, and Hux, the tall, thin little whippet of a man who nobody likes, stands at attention.

"Supreme Leader?"

"I've changed my mind. Call back the TIEs. Prepare to jump to hyperspace. Set coordinates for the Inner Rim. If they want to attack us unprovoked, they can do it at the risk of other lives." Hux turns to obey instantly, not about to argue with the look on the Supreme Leader's face.

"Sir!" A junior officer scurries up. "An X-wing has run aground in Hangar A. It's firing on—" An explosion rumbles through the bridge, and a few officers steady themselves against their consoles. The junior officer collects himself. "It's firing on the docked fighters—"

Kylo doesn't let him finish. "Stun the pilot. Under no circumstances are you to allow that ship off the _Annihilation._ I want him alive for questioning. Use force if you have to." _Poe Dameron_ , the Knights hear him think with disgust and hatred. _Only Poe Dameron would do something so mind-numbingly heroic and stupidly boneheaded._

"Who the frak is Poe Dameron?" hisses Talla to Kira.

"I have no clue," Kira whispers back.

"Sir, all hands are in the bay. We're prepared for the jump!" calls Hux, his nasal voice cutting through the chaos on the bridge.

"Do it!" snarls Kylo, and the stars outside streak into silver light, the vastness of space becoming a whirling tunnel of blue and white.

"That was underwhelming," mutters Obri.

"Knights. With me." Kylo turns without waiting for them and stomps out of the bridge, all six of them in his wake. They follow him out to the turbolifts and all cram into one, down to Hangar A shoulder to shoulder, and spill out with as much regality they can muster.

The ruined wreck of a T-70 X-wing is smoldering in the hangar, so covered with soot that none of them can make out what the colors are or were. Kylo notes that the droid compartment is empty, and viciously hopes someone finally blew that orange and white BB unit that had caused him so much trouble into oblivion.

"Sir!" A trooper jogs up and salutes. "We've stunned the pilot and we're currently attempting to pull him out of the cockpit. He's injured—"

"Good," snarls Kylo, sounding like a furious animal through his mask, and heads to the port side of the smoking ship. "Drag him out if you have to."

The troopers squatting on the nose lean in and wrestle for a moment, then yank out a helmeted figure in an orange jumpsuit, white vest, harness, boots, and gloves. The jumpsuit and gear is stained with soot and blood, and the helmet has been knocked almost sideways on the head, obscuring the face of the pilot as he struggles with the troopers, making muffled noises.

"Get that thing off his face," orders Obri Ren, pointing.

The troopers struggle for a moment to get it righted and finally yank the helmet off the pilot.

Kylo Ren's mind goes completely blank in the Force, halting and screeching back around in reverse off his train of thought, focusing with laserlike intensity on the pilot so quickly that Qore Ren turns to look at him before remembering he's masked and that nobody else can sense his thoughts.

"Is that Poe Dameron?" whispers Talla, leaning closer to Kira.

"No," says Kira Ren, feeling like her whole gut just dropped through the hangar floor in shock. Her hands tighten around her vibro-blades, and she's grateful for her mask for once. "That's definitely _not_ Poe Dameron."

"Hi, _Supreme Leader_ ," spits the woman in the jumpsuit, favoring one leg as the troopers hold her up. She has freckles across her nose and hazel eyes, narrowed in disdain.

"Bring her down to me," says Kylo, and his voice is entirely flat and inflectionless.

"Yes, sir," says one of the troopers, and they bring the woman down, not very gently. She whacks her injured leg on the side of the X-wing and yelps in pain, biting on her lip.

Kylo Ren clenches his fist and twitches his fingers, and the trooper who'd been careless with her is flung to the side, armor clattering as he fetches up against the nose of the craft. "Qore Ren. Obri Ren. Take her."

The underlying _be gentle about it_ is obvious. Obri and Qore step up and take the woman—really more like a girl, she's short and lean and fairly young—by the arms. She recoils at their masks, but she doesn't really have a choice, so she lets them escort her up to Kylo.

He just…looks at her, and she glares at him.

"I thought you were done with the masks," she finally says, voice tight with suppressed pain. "What, have you got a closet of them or something?"

"Search her," Kylo says coldly.

"Because no offense, but this one looks incredibly dumb—oi!" Qore's gloved hands are in the back pockets of her flight suit. "Don't get fresh!"

Kira fights a smile behind her mask. So _this_ is the Rey girl, the girl Kylo's been mooning over for weeks, the one powerful enough to—Her smile dies abruptly. She's a Light-sider, after all, and they can't trust her, even if she _is_ paling from blood loss and shakily standing on one leg.

Obri and Qore come up with nothing but two broken halves of an ancient saber casing. There's nothing else on the girl. "My lord," says Qore, and holds out the halves. "This is all."

"I’ll take that," says Kylo, and calls them to his hand with the Force. "It's rightfully mine." The girl doesn't protest, all her energy focused on staying upright.  "Qore. Kira. Take our guest to the medical bay and see that she's treated. Do _not_ leave her side. I'll join you later."

Kira senses a strange, sluggish shift around Rey, and automatically steps forward just before Rey goes colorless and slumps onto Qore's shoulder. Qore supports her neck with a little _hup_ sort of noise, and Kylo strides forward and scoops her up in both his arms. "I'll take her. Qore and Kira, with me. The rest of you, back to the bridge."

"Yes, master," they echo one after the other, and file away as Kira and Qore keep in step behind him, his robes swirling in his wake.

They both pretend they can't sense the clashing inner turmoil of emotions threatening to boil over in Kylo's mind.


	5. firecracker

Rey jerks awake all at once.

She's lying on a flat, firm medbay cot with a mask over her nose and mouth. Both arms are cuffed to the rails of the bed, and two hulking figures in black are standing at the foot of the bed, looking at her. She shouts a curse word that's muffled by the mask, and tries to sit up, but a coughing fit overtakes her, and she slumps over slightly at the head of the bed.

"Don't do that," says one of them, striding up to her side. "Lie down. You've lost a lot of blood, and your lungs are all karked up from the smoke."

"Oh, that's scientific-sounding," says the other figure, and Rey's not sure, but the voice sounds almost sarcastic. "So reassuring, Kira. _All karked up from smoke."_

"Do I look like a med-droid?" Kira sounds irritated.

"We were told not to frighten the prisoner. So." The person at the foot of the bed swivels their head about and looks at Rey. "Hello. I'm Qore Ren. That's Kira Ren. We've been assigned to guard you."

Rey just stares at them in silence.

"So," says Kira Ren, with exaggerated slowness, "how are you _feeling_?"

"Like I was inside an X-wing that crashed and burned. Oh wait. I _was_." Rey scowls, and coughs again.

"They popped you into a bacta tank for the leg injury. Deep cut, pretty bad contusion. You're lucky you didn't break it." Qore points at Rey's thigh. "Any pain?"

Rey cautiously lifts her knee. "No."

"Good. Kylo will be pleased."

At the mention of Kylo, Rey's whole mind goes panicked: tight and high-strung, thrumming like a plucked cord. She harnesses the Force, and both of them feel the suggestion bashing against their minds. "You'll uncuff me and let me go."

Qore barks a laugh, sharp and short. "My dear girl, we'll do no such thing."

Kira senses the embarrassment and confusion from Rey, and attempts to explain. She almost feels bad for her. "It's not you, it's us," she says. "We're Darksiders. We've had extensive training against mind-tricks. You might be able to pull that off on a Stormtrooper, but not on a Knight of Ren."

"Knights of _Ren_?" Rey draws her knees up to her chest protectively. She's wearing nothing but a thin fabric gown, tied shut in the front, and she feels horribly exposed. These two looming figures are Knights of Ren. The names they gave are clicking into place. She's heard stories that would make anyone's blood run cold.

They don't have time to say anything else, however, because the door is sliding open noiselessly and Kylo Ren, still masked, is striding through. He comes to a halt by Qore and just stands there, looking at Rey. Kira draws back and takes up a place just to his left.

Rey swallows hard and imagines her eyes are boring into that stupid mask. "Let me go," she demands.

"Where?" he asks, his voice made low and flat by the electronic filter. "We're in hyperspace. Your precious Resistance is still in the Mid Rim. Even if I gave you a transport, you'd never find them again."

"You ran away from the battle like a _coward_ ," she spits, and both the masked Knights make sharp, aborted movements in her direction, but control themselves. Kylo is impassive as ever, and it's infuriating. "You—you—you _kidnapped_ me! Again!" She rattles the cuffs for emphasis.

"You're a prisoner of war, not a kidnapping victim," he says. "I didn't ask you to crash your ship into my hangar bay."

"I didn’t ask you to jump to lightspeed!"

"I don't run my leadership decisions by _you_ ," he growls, his voice transformed into an electronic buzz by the mask. "If you wanted that, you should have accepted my offer."

Ah, there it is. Rey glares at him. "Oh, so you're going to punish me for not joining your—your tyrannical _dictatorship_ , is that it?"

Kylo goes very still. Every drop of blood in his body, against all reason and judgment, has flooded his lower circulatory system at the words _punish me_ spitting out of her mouth, and it's only by the grace of the Force that he chose a long over-cloak this morning when he dressed. When he's sure he can speak without humiliating himself, he inclines his head slightly forward. "If that's what you'd prefer," he says smoothly, "I can arrange that."

She goes beet-red. "I do _not!_ " He nearly becomes distracted by the color (beautiful, it means she's alive and not half-drained of blood anymore) but pulls himself together, mostly because Kira and Qore are on the brink of bursting out into giggles.

"As you wish," he says curtly. "You'll be held here under guard until you're fully recovered, after which you'll be moved to a holding cell. I'll interrogate you at my leisure."

"If you think this will be a repeat of Starkiller—if you think you'll get a single thing out of me, you can think again," Rey tells him.

He studies her from behind the mask. "Kira," he says.

Kira understands and steps forward. Without a gesture, she reaches out with the Force and probes into Rey's mind. Every one of the Knights has their own special ability that they’ve honed over the past ten years, and hers happens to be mind-probing, mind-tricks, perceptivity. She's just as good as Kylo, and about twice as careful when she does it.

Except… she comes up against a very thin layer of extremely recent memories, and below that—nothing. Kira frowns beneath her mask and pushes, and Rey pushes back. She can't see anything—it's like scraping thin ice off a solid duracrete wall. She can pull superficial memories of Rey getting into her cockpit and flying into the battle, the desperation to destroy anything important-looking in the hangar and the tang of fear behind it all, the _what if **he's** there_, but there are no memories of the briefing, of any intelligence. She's locked it all behind a wall Kira cannot get past.

It's…frustratingly admirable.

"Look," Kira says. "I don't want to hurt you. Make no mistake, I can easily get past that barrier, but it would break you mentally. Be reasonable."

"Kark you," Rey snaps, bristling.

Kylo looks at Rey and at Kira, and shakes his head slowly. "I want her mind whole," he says firmly.

"Yes, master," she says, releasing Rey from her mental probe. Rey sags slightly in the bed, and Kira makes a note of how exhausted she looks.

Obri steps forward. "We'll stay with the prisoner until she's ready to be moved," she says.

"Don't let her out of your sight," Kylo orders, and turns and leaves without so much as a glance back at Rey.

The minute he's gone, Rey gives both her guards a narrow-eyed look. "So are stupid masks some kind of dress code for the Dark Side or something?"

Qore is so taken aback that she laughs, and Rey blinks in surprise—after all, Qore has a very feminine, high-pitched giggle. "No, not a dress code," she says. "More a matter of security."

"Are you a _woman_?" Rey demands.

Qore looks at Kira and shrugs as if to say, _why not_ , before removing her helmet and indicating her face with a flourish. "So. Surprised?"

Rey looks thunderstruck. "You are! But—I thought—" She opens and closes her mouth a few times, then stops. "Kira's a woman, too. Isn't she?"

"Yes," says Kira, slightly surprised. "How did you know?"

"Your Force-presence," Rey says, "when you were trying to get into my head. It felt different than when Kylo did it, and I felt like…I don't know. It had a different…flavor."

Kira undoes the clasps on her helmet and exposes her face to Rey, and Rey just stares at the pair of them: Qore with her dark, cheerful face, wealth of dark braids, and amber-gold eyes; Kira with her perpetually gloomy expression, under-eye circles, dull dark eyes, and long, glossy chestnut hair. "You're….older," she says awkwardly. "I mean—"

Qore grins, exposing the dark gap between her two front teeth. "Kira is twenty-eight. I am thirty-one next month."

"Happy early birthday," says Rey automatically, and looks surprised at herself. "And… the other Knights?"

"Oh, different species. All women, though." Kira sits on the little duraplast chair by the foot of the bed.

"Oh. I thought—Ben didn't send you to guard me because you're women," Rey says lamely.

 _Ben_. Nobody's spoken that name in years. Kira blinks. " _Kylo Ren_ chose us because we're both a little more attuned to the Light than is strictly proper," she explains. "So if you manage to escape, _we_ won't immediately kill you and ask questions later." The unspoken implication is clear: the others most certainly will.

Rey looks startled, then mulish. "I’m not going to try to escape," she says sullenly.

"That's what everyone says," Qore tells her, sweeping all her little braids to one side of her head. "Prisoners are predictable."

"No, I mean—" Rey sniffs, and Kira realizes she's going to cry. "I'm in the middle of nowhere with no idea how to get back to any of my friends. I don't even know the quadrant we started the battle in."

"Oh," says Kira, and can't think of a single reassuring thing to say. She settles on, "Well, we're not going to torture you. And I don't think Kylo will, either."

"Thanks," says Rey, sounding congested. "I guess. Is there anything to drink around here?"

Qore fills a disposable cup with water and holds it to her mouth. Rey can't drink it herself with her hands cuffed to the bed, but she gulps it down gratefully. "Not too much," Qore says.

"Here," says Kira, and holds a sani-wipe to her nose. "Blow." Rey dutifully blows, and Kira wipes her nose before tossing the thing into the wall receptacle. "Try to get some sleep. It's good for you. Promotes healing, if the med-droids are to be believed."

Rey's pretty sure after this day she'll never sleep again, and certainly not while she's being watched by two Knights of Ren, but gradually, exhaustion catches up with her and she drifts off, cheek pressed to the thin little pillow.


	6. burn, oh, burn

It's only about two days (mostly marked by Qore or Kira helping an embarrassed and slightly irate Rey to the 'fresher) before Rey is proclaimed whole and healthy, ready for her transfer to the cell blocks.

Kylo Ren spends those two days awake, pacing furiously, trying to meditate, sitting through incredibly boring meetings with his generals, and spending his free time desperately fighting the urge to march down to the medical bay and either throttle, interrogate, or ravish Rey.

 _Ravish_ , he thinks sourly to himself, more than once. What a _stupid_ word. It evokes romance and slow, gentle lovemaking, something rapturous, something divine. He doesn't want that. He wants to storm into her room and strip her naked and take her right there on the floor, security cams be damned.

He knows he can't do that, so he satisfies himself with long, private sessions in his 'fresher. And in his shower. And in his bed. At least, he tries to satisfy himself. The knowledge that she's on board and he can't touch her at all is enough to suck the color out of every fantasy he attempts to call to mind, leaving him aching and unable to finish.

The Knights give him a bit of distance. They can sense his turmoil, even if they can't quite place the Force on details, and none of them are partial to it.

"Don't tell anyone I told you this," says Obri to Talla, holed up in their quarters, "but that girl is someone important to Kylo. Personally."

"What?" Talla rolls over in bed, mouth agape. "You're joking."

"I’m not. Kylo told Kira and Kira told me." Obri stretches her arms and relaxes. "And get this. She _didn't_ kill Snoke. _He_ did."

"So _that's_ why he's on edge? Holy Force," Talla says, moth open. "Does she—is she—"

"From what I gathered, no, she doesn't feel the same way about him. But she did spare his life after he got himself knocked out in a fight with her, so who knows?" Obri traces her fingers down Talla's arm.

"And now he doesn't know what to do with himself. Poor Kylo," says Talla, eyes half shut. "Well. Maybe she'll come around."

"Maybe," says Obri, and noses into Talla's face for a kiss, then punctuates every word with another, going lower and lower: jaw, throat, collarbone, chest. "Maybe—he'll—finally—stop— _moping_ —"

Talla squeals as Obri's mouth latches onto her right breast. She swats at her, and the pair of them tussle for a moment, then fall off the bed with a thump, the conversation forgotten.

 

* * *

 

"Don't tell anyone," says Talla to Charal as they're eating lunch, "but Kylo has a massive crush on that Light-sider we pulled out of the X-wing."

Charal blankly stares at her. "What? Like…just out of nowhere?"

"What? No! No, I mean he knew her before! He's met her a few times, I think. She rejected him, but she _might_ have some feelings back." Talla pops her fork into her mouth and talks around her food. "She spared his life in a fight."

"Is that why he's been so angry the past few days? I mean. More so than usual." Charal sips at her caf.

"Mmm-hmm. I thought he was gonna carve that wall apart in the meeting this morning when Hux suggested using her as a bargaining chip against the Resistance. It wasn't even a bad suggestion. _And_ , get this. _He_ killed Snoke."

"Oh, that's not even a little shocking." Charal sips her caf. "I mean. I suspected. Right. Well, maybe she'll cooperate. I'd hate to kill her at this point. Qore says she's really nice, not like a real Light-sider at all," says Charal.

"Same here," says Talla brightly. "Keep an eye out and see how it goes, I guess."

 

* * *

 

"If Kylo loses his temper one more time over a minor infraction, I'm going to request to be taken off guard rotation," snaps Kymber, removing her helmet in the recreation room.

"What was it this time?" Charal looks up from her datapad. She's reading a really fascinating piece on the Clone Wars, and only juicy gossip can interrupt her when she's reading.

"Some junior officer came into the throne room to alert him as to the status of repairs in the hangar that pilot blew up and Kylo threw him into a wall because he didn't say 'Supreme Leader Ren'," Kymber tells her, gulping down water from the carafe on the table. "I've never seen him so testy."

"Oh, he's just on edge because he has a crush on that pilot," says Charal idly, flipping a page before realizing what's come out of her mouth. "Oh, Sithspit. I didn't say that. You did _not_ hear me say that."

" _What_?" demands Kymber.

"Ugh," says Charal, and slides down out of her chair, hands on her eyes, the Clone Wars forgotten. "Okay. He knows her from a long time ago. They had some kind of thing, then they got into a fight, and Kylo's not over it."

"A—a thing?" asks Kymber, bewildered.

"Yeah, like a relationship. A thing." Charal waves her hands around. "I think he killed Snoke…probably for _her_."

"They had…sexual relations?" Kymber looks shocked, not even bothering to address the Snoke revelation.

"I—no, I don't think so. It was like they both had feelings but got into a fight and Kylo still has feelings but she probably doesn't." Charal scratches her left frontal horn hopelessly. "Just…don't tell anyone."

There's a brief silence. "I don't pretend to understand the minds of sexual beings," says Kymber. "They are bizarre caverns of illogical and unhygienic acts I would prefer to be kept a mystery."

"Great," says Charal.

"And I won't tell anyone," adds Kymber. "Especially about the Snoke thing."

" _Great_ ," says Charal, with more relief.

 

* * *

 

An orderly reports to the Supreme Leader that evening with the prisoner's vitals report, and declares her fit for transfer to Block B.

Kylo rises from his throne (not the same throne Snoke had sat upon, not even the same make: this is a smooth black thing in a medium-sized chamber just impressive enough to be intimidating but not ridiculously so) and tells Charal and Talla, who are on duty with him that evening, to stay put, that he'll handle this himself.

He strides down the corridor, the orderly just behind him, and into the lift, up to the medical bay, and down another hall. The orderly opens the door for him and steps back with a little bow. "Sir," he says.

Kylo stares straight ahead, and no matter how hard he had tries to control his thoughts, he completely loses them the moment he lays eyes on her. Again.

Rey is sitting up on the edge of the bed, chatting with Kira while Qore leans against the wall, watching. Both Rey's hands are still cuffed to the rail, but she's out of her hospital gown, wearing a long-sleeved, grayish knit thing with a ribbed front and back and light gray thermal leggings. Her feet are encased in the warm yellow synthwool socks that every medbay hands out to its patients, and she's idly swinging her legs. Her hair is greasy and unwashed, slightly matted at her temples and uncombed. His eyes take in every detail about her in a nanosecond.

 _Are you all right_? he wants to ask. _Did they treat you well? Are you in pain?_

He can't ask any of these questions, so he just stands there, and they all look at him, the moment broken. Rey looks suspicious, and the other two just look at him, waiting for an order.

"Good evening," he says, unable to think of anything else to say.

Her eyes narrow. "If you're going to throw me into a cell, you don't have to be polite about it."

"That's not what I'm—" He catches himself and shuts his eyes, thankful she can't see his face. "Kira. Qore. Uncuff her from the bed and bring her with me." He throws Kira the mag-key to the cuffs, and she catches it easily, then bends to free Rey's right wrist. "And if you attempt to escape, you'll be incapacitated. I assume you remember Takodana."

Rey gives him a disgusted look, but doesn't deign to respond verbally. The Knights gently cuff both her hands together and lead her into the hallway, following just behind Kylo. She looks tiny in the midst of three black-garbed, masked figures.

They walk to the lifts, take it several floors up, and come out on a well-lit corridor with blank white doors. Kylo chooses one and palms it open, the scanner recognizing his bioprint, and the door hisses open silently to reveal a well-lit and comfortable suite of rooms. It looks more like a five-star hotel on Coruscant than a prison cell, and Rey blinks in confusion.

"I thought you were taking me to a cell," she says.

"This is a cell. The door is bio-encrypted. I can enter and leave with the handprint scan. Any of my Knights can enter or leave with a triple-check: retinal scan, bioprint, and passcode. The passcode will change every eight hours, and your guards for that period of time will have the passcode." Kylo steps in, hands clasped behind his back, and turns to face her, gesturing with one hand to the room. "Please. I want to make sure everything is to your liking."

Rey realizes the two Knights have released her, and that nothing is stopping her from turning and running down the corridor—except, of course, the promise of a stun gun and a much less comfortable cell. And there's a note in Kylo's voice she's intrigued by—he sounds almost eager for her approval, and that's…interesting.

She steps into the room of her own accord, followed by Kira and Qore, and looks around. The floor is shining dark wood, polished so smooth she almost slides on it in her socks, and there's a beautiful plush rug beneath the low sofa in the corner. There's a Holonet screen, and a shelf of reading material: holomags, mostly. A datapad for personal use, although she's sure it's probably bugged and restricted. A small table, two chairs.

There's a doorway in the back wall, and Rey crosses the floor to investigate, curious in spite of herself. Behind the door lies a sleeping area with recessed lighting in the walls: a low, wide bed that looks extremely comfortable, a chest of drawers, a closet. There's another door to the left, and she pokes her head in to find a 'fresher, complete with a state of the art shower cubicle, sink, commode, and plenty of toiletries.

"This isn't a normal prison cell," Rey says, withdrawing her head.

Kylo is standing in the doorway to the bedroom, as if he's unwilling to cross the threshold into the sleeping area without being expressly asked—which is ridiculous, after all: it's his ship. "No, it isn't," he says. "This is the floor for political prisoners and officers awaiting court-martial. The standard cells are much less comfortable."

"Why did you put me here?" she demands. "I thought you were going to interrogate me."

He just looks at her for a long moment, from somewhere behind that stupid red and black mask. "You'll be given three meals a day, at 0600, 1200, and 1800 on the dot. Cleaning droid once a week. There are fresh clothes in the closet. If you want something laundered, leave it on the floor."

Rey strides over to him, and both the Knights, who are waiting in the seating area, spring to guard—but Kylo doesn't move. She gets right up in his face. "Answer me. Why did you put me here?"

"Enjoy your stay," he says softly, and turns to go. Infuriated at being ignored, she follows him to the sitting room, but is frozen in place with the Force as Kira and Qore turn to follow him out.

"Ben, _please!_ " she cries, on the brink of tears, and that, _that_ gets him to stop in his tracks. She casts about desperately for something that will make him stay, make him answer her. "Please, just _talk_ to me. I _missed_ you." And that's true, even if she hates herself for it. She does miss him. Every day he hadn't suddenly intruded on her day-to-day activities in a tweak of the Force had been a disappointment. She'd missed their conversations, even if it all had been engineered by Snoke. She'd missed the intimacy of talking to someone who'd really seen her for who she was and _understood_ — "Was any of it even real?" she demands, her throat thickening with tears.

Something unspoken passes between Kylo and his two Knights, and they leave, the door slipping shut behind them. He turns his head, as if to look at her over his shoulder. He seems frozen. "Of course it was real," he says. "All of it." The mask is obscuring the tone of his voice, but she thinks it might be wavering.

"Did you ever care about me?" she manages, desperately trying not to start crying in front of him. "Or was it some _plot_ , something you and Snoke c-cooked up, trying to get me to j-join the—"

"No," he says harshly, and turns fully, facing her. "No. Snoke lied to me. Snoke lied to both of us. How can you even _say_ that—"

"I don't know what's real anymore!" she cries. "You've taken over as Supreme Leader of the First Order, you have another stupid mask, you have your Knights of Ren on board with you, and they're all _terrifying_ —"

Kylo doesn't move. "If Kira and Qore frighten you, you have only to tell me—"

Rey crosses her arms. "I've heard stories of what they've all done. I'm not an idiot, Ben. Just because I've seen their faces and Qore tried to teach me how to play pyramid chess and Kira held me up so I could pee into a toilet doesn't mean I'm not frightened of them."

"None of the Knights are going to lay a finger on you," he says firmly. "They're under my express command. They don't answer to anyone but me."

"So what you're saying is, you could order them to torture me, and they'd do it," says Rey.

Kylo stares at her for a long moment, then reaches up for his helmet. It unlocks with a little hiss of air in the seal, the mouthpiece jutting forward like a muzzle, and he lifts it off his head and sets it on the caf table, exposing his face to her for the first time in more than a year.

Rey stares at him. His hair is longer than she remembers, long and thick and dark, extending past his shoulders: threads of silver are creeping in at the temples. She realizes she has no idea how old he is. His eyes are the same, tired and incongruously gentle above his large nose and angry-looking mouth—perhaps a few more lines at the corners, deeper bags under the eyes. There are dark shadows beneath them that suggest he hasn't slept well lately, maybe for a while. She'd forgotten how his chin curved off to the left—well, his right, her left. His face is all asymmetry and crooked angles; long, fine bones and unexpected boyishness. A face of contradictions.

"Rey," he says, and she remembers instantly how much she'd missed his voice, his real voice. "I'm not going to order anyone on this ship to hurt you."

"You're not," she echoes, unable to tear her eyes away from his mouth. _Stop it,_ shrieks her rational mind. _Stop thinking about how soft his mouth looks. Stop!_

"No," he says. "If that needs to be done, I'll do it myself."

Her brain stutters to an absolute halt, then fires back up again with a vengeance. "You're not going to hurt me," she snaps. "You couldn't. You _wouldn't_."

"Oh, wouldn't I?" he muses, looking her up and down. "I suppose if you misbehave, we'll find out."

Her cheeks (and a few other body parts, to her own consternation) flood with heat. "I'm not a _child_ , you overgrown—you—you—Kowakian monkey-lizard!"

"Keep insulting your Supreme Leader and we'll _certainly_ find out," he growls, his voice dropping a whole octave.

Rey stands her ground, not to be deterred. "You're not _my_ Supreme Leader, you long-nosed, oversized, thick-headed, torpedo-brained—dirty old _nerf-herder_ —"

Kylo yanks her to him with a surge of the Force, her upper arm firmly trapped in his enormous, black-gloved hand. " _Old_ , is it? I'll have you know," he snarls, right into her ear, "that I'm thirty-one, you impertinent little sand-rat."

He's close enough to kiss, and Rey very nearly does, if out of nothing more than spite or to shock him (or at least, that's what she tells herself), but before she can move, he's got both her arms pinned and he's frog-marching her over to the sofa. He sits, dragging her down, and Rey finds herself bent over his knees, staring at his boot with her hands held tight to her lower back.

"You karking _pervert,_ " she spits, struggling in a desperate bid for freedom. It does nothing but rub her crotch against his thigh sideways, and she lets out an involuntary cry that's _definitely_ not pained or angry before biting her bottom lip so hard she's afraid she'll bleed.

His gloved left hand tightens on her wrists, and she thinks _kark me, his hands are big_ before his right hand comes down hard on her behind with a sharp smack.

"Oi!" she yelps. It's through the leggings, which are also somewhat shock-resistant, but that doesn't mean she can't feel _anything._

"That's for the monkey-lizard comment," he growls. "And _this_ —" He brings his hand down again in quick succession, punctuating each repeated insult with another smack, "is for _long nosed—oversized—thick-headed—torpedo-brained—dirty—old—nerf-herder._ And _that's_ for calling me a coward _—_ and _this_ is for calling me a pervert _."_

Rey's quivering against his legs when he's done, her face burning with heat. She's never been this aroused in her life, and she's absolutely sure that she's left a damp spot on his trousers. Her backside is flushed with heat, and his hand is trembling ever so slightly on her wrists.

"Say you're sorry," he snaps, and she cranes her neck up to look at him. Two spots of color are high on his cheeks, and his eyes are bright and focused on her. " _Say_ it."

"I'm sorry," she forces out between her teeth.

"'I'm sorry,' what?" he pushes.

"I'm sorry, _Supreme Leader_ ," she spits.

He releases her wrists and she pushes herself up, her thighs trembling. Kylo's eyes go immediately to her crotch, and she looks down to see a damp patch, dark on the light gray thermal material. Rey backs away and covers herself with her hands. She looks at the wall to her right, absolutely humiliated as the enormity (and absurdity) of what's just happened comes crashing down in the absence of her stupid, stupid hormones.

She's just been _spanked_ by the Supreme Leader of the First Order in her very nice prison cell, and she'd _liked_ it. A  _lot._

What is  _wrong_ with her?

"Leave," she gasps, unable to even look at him.

"Rey—"

"I said, _go_ ," she insists, her voice cracking.

Kylo stands up, plucking awkwardly at his trousers. He doesn't bother saying anything else, just silently heads for the door. As he crosses in front of her, she grips him by the collar with her left hand and punches him in the mouth with the other, splitting his lip against his teeth.

"Ungh," he groans, stumbling and cupping his chin. He doesn't make an attempt to fight her back, or even raise a hand to push her off.

"That's for calling me a _sand-rat_ ," she snaps, her grip tightening on his collar. Two can play at this game.

He licks his bleeding lip tentatively and his eyes snap to hers. "I'm sorry," he says softly.

 _I bet you are,_ she thinks savagely, and he gives her a quick once-over before leaving her alone in the room, the door hissing shut, and just like that he's gone in a swirl of black.

It's not until Rey's had a long, hot shower and changed into some of the clothes provided for her that she notices he's left his helmet sitting on her caf table.

 

* * *

 

 

Kylo storms out of the room, ignoring the concerned questions about his lip from Kira and Qore.

"You're both relieved from duty for twenty-four hours," he tells them tersely in the lift to their quarters. "Obri and Talla will take over guard duty. Thank you."

Kira's not to be deterred. "Master, you're bleeding—"

"If I find I need medical care, I'll _walk down and get it myself!"_ he almost screams at her.

She snaps her mouth shut and is silent for the rest of the trip. He wants to apologize, but he doesn't. He's far too distracted.

They leave him at the juncture and head back to their quarters, Qore with a quiet promise to fetch his helmet back from the cell. Kylo gets back into the lift and makes it about halfway down to the bridge before he can't stand it anymore and slams the emergency stop on the wall panel, bringing the turbolift to a grinding halt between two utility floors where nobody is going to come searching for a good five minutes, if they come searching at all.

He doesn't think he'll need more than that.

His left hand yanks down his trousers while his right hand finds his mouth and he bites his glove off. There's a damp spot on his right thigh, and it smells like _her_ , earthy and sweaty. Kylo spits on his hand, digs down between his legs and collapses to his knees in the lift, his left hand pressed against the opaque wall and his right pumping away furiously.

Kylo hates looking at his own dick. It's ugly like the rest of him: thick and swollen, red and glistening at the tip, veins protruding, sunlessly pallid down where it meets the thatch of black hair between his thighs. He looks at the wall instead, breathing in the scent of Rey on his thigh. He doesn't care about his split lip: he sucks at it and the pain spurs him on. He doesn't even need to call up a fantasy this time. He comes shockingly fast with a muffled groan, the delicious sensation tingling though his lower body, and belatedly realizes he doesn’t have anything to clean up with, not even a handkerchief, and now there's spend splattered on the floor and the wall and his fingers and the inside of his pants.

He should really start carrying a handkerchief. Most of the superior officers do.

Kylo stands up when he's able to do so again, tucks himself back into his trousers, straightens himself up, and uses the Force to tweak the emergency stop button into reverse and start the thing again.

He steps off the lift and accosts a junior officer. "Someone's left a mess in Lift 9U," he says darkly, and the officer nods instantly and promises to have a custodian clean it up as soon as possible. Kylo remembers he has a strategy consultation in five minutes, and heads off toward the conference rooms. Maybe he'll be able to pay attention for the duration of the meeting this time.


	7. a collision in the dark

"I can't believe she _hit_ him," Qore repeats in astonishment.

"I can," Kira says dryly.

They're sitting in Qore's quarters, drinking caf and playing pyramid chess in their sleeping clothes. Duty relief is usually fun, some downtime, some rest: but it's been eight hours and neither of them can get their minds off the fiery little scavenger and the way Kylo Ren allows her to treat him.

"Maybe he's into it," Qore muses.

"I didn't think Kylo was _into_ anything much. Until, you know. Rey came along," says Kira, moving her senator piece to square 4B on level 3. "He's determined to not let us at her for questioning, but I don't think she even has anything to _tell_ us."

"She's the Resistance's Jedi," Qore says, shaking her head. She's taken her braids out to wash and condition her hair, and it stands out around her face like a great soft black cloud, bouncing with the movement. "She's got to know something about their strategy, or their bases. Something."

"Maybe it's a trap and they sent her here to gather intel on _us_ ," says Kira.

"Force, you're so gloomy. You saw her face when we told her we were Knights of Ren. She had no idea we were on board the _Annihilation_. You're just mad he shouted at you in the lift." Qore moves her queen piece to counter Kira's offensive maneuver on the board.

The other woman huffs, blowing a few strands of hair up in front of her face. "I _am_ mad he shouted at me. That has nothing to do with my feelings about having a Light-sider on the ship."

"For all Kylo's concerned, _we're_ Light-siders. He only assigned us to Rey because he knows we're more…" Qore waves a hand. "You know. Halfway. Light-sided."

Kira glares at the board and moves her queen piece to block Qore's. "I know. But she's… _really_ Light-sided. And she didn't kill Snoke."

That hangs in the air. Qore's eyes widen fractionally, then narrow. "I see." She moves her general piece across one, and down two.

"I…promised I wouldn't say anything, but—"

"He was a disgusting old shambles of a being who deserved what he got," says Qore with uncharacteristic coldness. "Good for Kylo. Even better if it was a nice slow death."

Kira nods. "I hope Rey doesn't do anything stupid. Maker forbid she gets out and has to deal with Kymber. I'm beginning to like her." She moves her queen closer to Qore's planet piece.

"Hmm," says Qore, and points to the board. "That's a sloppy move. You're sure you want to make that move?"

"Yes, I do," says Kira impatiently.

Qore grins and moves her general piece to knock Kira's queen off the board. "General beats queen. And now I take my four moves…" Kira watches in frustration as Qore uses her four free moves to take Kira's knight, her general, her king, and three lined up planet pieces. "Which brings me to five planets captured. So. Pyramid is mine. Check and mate."

"I hate this game," Kira grumbles.

"You never win because you never set up your pieces for the long game," Qore says. "Rematch?"

"I'm good. Why don't we catch up on _Offworlder_ and finish this bottle of—"

The Force whips to life, crackling and urgent, and both of them sense it and sit straight up.

_Prisoner on the loose cell block B come **quick** bring weapons bring EVERYTHING shit shit shit_

It's Obri, who's never quite figured out the trick of coherent full sentences when she's panicking.

"Time to go," says Kira, and snatches up her vibroblades before racing out the door, Qore in hot pursuit with her staff.

 

* * *

 

The cellblock has been locked down by the time they get there. It's the middle of the sleeping cycle, so when Kira and Qore arrive, sweating, the only other people there are Kymber and Charal.

"Where the hell is Obri?" demands Qore.

"In there," Kymber says, pointing. "We were standing guard outside Kylo's room when we heard her calling—I think Talla is in there with her."

"Sithspit," curses Kira. "Obri!" she shouts through the crackling ray shields that block the corridor from the main hall. "Obri, if you can hear me, don't you _dare_ hurt Rey!" She can't see past the field of energy well enough to get a look at what's happening. Obri and Talla are the most lethal of the six of them. Together, they're powerful enough to take on almost anything with deadly force. Obri is all brute strength, a jack-of-all-trades with any weapon imaginable. Talla would slit a man's throat as easily as smiling at him, and he probably wouldn't even know he'd died.

Qore looks worried. "Kylo's going to be pissed if—"

"He's on his way down," Charal says, her voice gone very thin and tense.

Kira hears a female scream from somewhere down the corridor and scrambles to the power panel on the right, tearing the thing off the wall with the Force and reaching in. She just needs to reverse the current in the ray shield, and then—

It flickers, dies, and drops. She and Qore take off running into the darkened corridor, and she senses a wave of something extremely strong from Obri that she can't quite grasp the flavor to. "Obri!" she shouts, infuriated. What are they _playing_ at?

There's another cry, this one weaker, and Kira heads further down. She can smell blood, and she hopes it's not Rey's. "Qore, can you get the lights on?"

"One moment," says Qore, concentrating. The overheads pop on, almost blinding them, and Kira stares down at the streaks of dark red on the walls as her vision adjusts.

There's movement down the hall, and Kira goes into immediate defensive mode, her jaw clenched as Obri drags Rey into view, one arm curled around her throat. "I got her," she pants, elated, and Kira realizes what the surge of emotion from Obri was: glee. "Got her."

"Obri," says Qore. "Put Rey down."

"No," Obri says. "No. She's mine. I caught her fair and square."

"Fair and square," Talla sing-songs from further down the hall. She pops into view, holding her blaster steady and grinning madly.

"They've lost it," mutters Qore. Kira ignores her for a moment and focuses on Rey, who she's not even sure is alive at this point. She's been shot in the arm, a smoking, charred hole in her skin showing precisely where, and she's white as a sheet. Rey's also still in her sleepwear, a thin pair of shorts and a small, strapped top, and her clothes are stained with blood. If she'd been trying to escape, she certainly hadn't dressed for it.

"How did she get out?" Kira asks. "That door's bio-crypted. You can't even use the Force to open it."

"Kylo's almost here," mutters Qore.

Talla falters for a moment. "We were—we—" She gives Obri a look, then looks at her blaster. " _We_ opened the door. Didn't we?"

"We had to," Obri snarls, and Kira realizes what's happened. Obri and Talla are very good at mayhem. They are _not_ good at being on the receiving end of Jedi mind-tricks, for all their training. "We _had_ to—"

The picture becomes crystal-clear. Rey had attempted to escape by coercing them to open the door, and once she'd been out they had half-remembered their orders and gone berserk in a total, disorienting panic to hunt her down. It had happened before once, on Glee Ansolm, and the body count had been astronomical. _What was Kylo thinking?_

"Obri. You did your job so well," Kira says, trying to be soothing. "Now just—just hand over the prisoner, and we can all go back to sleep, okay?"

"No, no, no, she's mine," insists Obri, shaking Rey's limp body like a doll.

"Where's the blood coming from?" hisses Kira to Qore.

"That," says Qore tersely, and points. Kira follows her line of sight and sees the gash on the back of Rey's leg, long and jagged. "Nicked a vein, I think." The blood is dark and slow-flowing, but in the light they can't be sure.

Kira sheathes her vibroblades and advances slowly, so slowly. "Obri—Jana. You did a great job, but it's time for someone else to take over, now."

"Not Jana," Obri says, sudden tears in her eyes. "Jana was weak. Jana—Jana—" Her lower lip quivers, and she sniffs loudly. "I _do_ my job."

"Oh. All right, Obri." Kira gets her hands oh so carefully under Rey's body and lifts. "Will you finish the job and help me carry her out?"

"Yes," says Obri after a moment of consideration, and together they stumble under Rey's weight back to the mouth of the corridor, followed by Qore, who has Talla in a very friendly and _very_ firm grip.

Ten feet from the entrance Kylo appears, barefoot and in a nightrobe, a look of absolute stark rage on his face.

Cold fury. Kira can feel it rolling off him, like a dead star.

"What have you _done_?" he snarls, and Obri recoils, leaving Kira holding Rey's deadweight body by herself.

Qore lets go of Talla, quickly assisting Kira in getting Rey on her back on the floor, and sets to work assessing the damage. She has a pulse, but it's weak, and her lips are nearly blue, in addition to the bruising on her neck and the shot in her arm. "We have to get her to the medbay _now_ ," she mutters.

Obri is cringing, still disoriented. "Master," she says, and begins to cry. "I don't know—I don't know what happened—"

"Kylo. Deal with her later. We have to get the prisoner to medical."

Kylo doesn't even look at her. He's entirely focused on Obri and Talla, so angry he's almost shaking.

Qore tries again. "Kylo, if we don’t get her there now she is going to _die_."

That gets his attention. He slowly turns and sees them crouching over Rey, and really sees Rey for a moment, his pale face going even paler. He strides to the datapanel on the other wall and keys in his personal code to call medical transport, then turns.

"Kymber. Charal. Take Obri and Talla to temp holding. I want them unconscious. We don't need any more destruction tonight." Kymber and Charal nod and turn to Talla and Obri, and with a quick pull-push of the Force, both women are out like a light. Charal lifts Obri and Kymber lifts Talla, and they head to the lifts.

Kylo turns back and kneels down by Rey's side next to Kira, one hand on her forehead. "Medical is on their way. ETA about a minute." He leans closer and concentrates, and they can feel the Force surging. "Rey, hold on," he whispers. "Hold on."

Her pulse flutters, thumps erratically, and stops.

"Oh, Huttshit," says Qore, and presses her hand on Rey's bony chest, the Force pushing blood through her veins, pumping her heart. "Come on. Come on, Rey girl. Don't die on us. Should I close the leg wound?"

Kira presses her hand to the open wound on the back of Rey's leg and sniffs it, catching the metallic, coppery scent of blood…and something else, something sweet. "Poison," she says tersely. "Talla uses those blades with puffbladder venom, _kark_ me, I didn't notice—"

"Move," snaps Kylo, and he presses his hand to her leg, the Force drawing out the poison that's made its way through her bloodstream and pooling on the floor in a sickly greenish puddle. Rey goes into a violent seizure as the toxin leaves her system, and Qore murmurs softly, holding her head still. "That's it," she says, her hands sweeping up and down Rey's body. "Poison's gone." One hand hovers above Rey's leg, and the wound closes up, muscle and skin knitting back together. "Easy, now. You're all right."

"This is my fault," Kylo chokes. "I shouldn't have assigned them to her—got distracted, what was I _thinking_ —"

Kira bends over Rey's mouth and tilts her chin to the heavens, blowing air into her lungs while Qore pumps her heart until the medical staff arrives, and if they're taken aback at the sight of their Supreme Leader in his nightclothes sobbing on the floor next to two of his very obviously off-duty female guards desperately trying to keep a prisoner alive, they have the very good sense to say absolutely nothing about it at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I haven't updated because HOLIDAYS but I assure you after Christmas I'll do my best to get back to our regularly posted schedule. SORRY


	8. our hearts turn red

"You know," says a very faint voice from the cot, "I don't think waking up in medical every few days is very good for my health."

Kylo jerks awake in the too-small chair where he's been curled up for the past ten hours, blinking crusty gunk out of his eyes and trying to focus on the speaker. His mouth tastes like smelt and his head aches like fire. "Rey?"

"I think so." She moves a little, and he unfolds himself and reaches out to keep her still before he catches himself, stopping just short of actually touching her.

"Don't do that. You had—" he tries to think: the entire night and most of the morning is a sleep-deprived blur, but he'd clung to her medical details like a drowning man clings to a life preserver. "You had a very nasty wound on the back of your left thigh and a blaster shot in the right arm. Heavy blood loss and a neurotoxin. You'll want to sleep."

"They put me in bacta again. I smell like it." She sniffs her palm, her nose wrinkling. Kylo wants to cup her whole face in his hands and kiss her on her freckly nose, her forehead, her mouth. Instead he sits back at a respectful distance.

"I want to—apologize deeply for last night. I shouldn't have put Obri Ren and Talla Ren on guard duty together. They've been disciplined accordingly." He'd left them both in single-cell confinement until they'd finished eight solid hours of meditation. They still weren't done, if Kymber was to be believed.

"I didn't—" Rey winces a little and he fights to not instantly ask what's wrong. "I didn't realize—I tried to use a mind-trick on Kira and Qore, but they weren't even affected. Obri and Talla kept taunting me through the door, and I thought—why not, you know, mess around a little. And then they _did_ , and started chasing me, and I was so scared. I thought—" She swallows, and he can feel the effort she's taking to not cry in front of him. "I thought they were going to kill me," she finishes. "I thought _you—_ you'd given them orders to k-kill me."

Kylo feels like he's been hit in the stomach. "Force, no. Never." _I can't even control my own guards. What kind of leader am I?_ "Rey, I would never."

"I know," she manages, a little raspy. "I know you wouldn't. You'd at least have the guts to do it yourself."

He doesn't know what to say to that, so he crosses the floor to fill a cup of water for her from the sink and hands it to her. She's not restrained this time, and her fingers brush his as she takes the cup. Bare skin on bare skin. It's horribly intimate, the drag of her smooth fingers against his big clumsy ones, and he finds himself wishing furiously he'd gotten dressed instead of spending all night and morning down here in his sleeping clothes.

She finishes the water and hands the cup back to him. "So," she says, sounding tired. "I'm sure you have a lot of meetings to get to."

"I canceled them all for today," he says, tossing the cup into the trash receptacle. "I didn't know if you were going to—be all right, and—and as a valuable prisoner with intelligence, we can't afford to lose you."

"I'm fine," she tells him. "Are Kira and Qore—"

"They're asleep. I gave them twenty-four hours of leave. I'm the only one here." Kylo sits back in his uncomfortable chair and sighs.

"Did you really choose them to guard me because they're more Light-sided?" she asks.

"That was…a factor," he says, sitting forward again. "As was spite: Snoke never shut up about how they were trouble and how I was going to regret not having one hundred percent Darksiders for Knights. I don't think any of them are all dark or all light. Certainly nobody at the Academy was."

"The Academy?" Rey looks stunned. "They were students with you?"

"They all were," he confirms. "They renounced their names and pledged their loyalty to me."

"What was the other factor?" Rey is interested now, sitting up slightly.

"I trust them the most," he says. "I trust them all, of course—but some things are more precious to me than others."

Rey looks down at her lap, then peeks up to see Kylo stealing a glance at her. Their eyes meet and they both look away, Rey blushing furiously. "I'm only precious to you because I'm a prisoner of war and you're going to interrogate me for whatever it is you think I know," she says firmly.

"Of course," he says, still looking at the foot of the bed.

"The information is precious, not me."

"Precisely."

"Which is why you stayed up all night to watch me personally, because you care very deeply about the information of a prisoner, and Force only knows what would have happened if I'd died," she presses.

"Rey," he says, and she snaps her eyes back to front and center. His eyes are warm, brown and gentle and so, so tired.

"What?"

Kylo hesitates, then stands up. "I'll leave you to get some rest. I'm glad you're alive. I'm—very glad."

He leaves without a look back at her, and Rey feels as if she's missed something important, something crucial, but it's too late and he's already gone.

 

* * *

 

Obri gets out of confinement the same time Talla does. Neither of them speak to anyone else for almost a week. They do throne room guard rotations and stay away from Rey, and that's a perfectly acceptable arrangement for the other four.

Rey is moved back to her comfortable room once she's recovered fully. Hux is flabbergasted by the fact that nobody has seen fit to interrogate the Resistance prisoner yet, and brings it up once to Kylo.

"Supreme Leader—erm, don't you agree it would be wise to question the prisoner _as soon as possible_? We can't wait for another attack."

Kylo gives him a look that could kill a star and says, "You're not to question my methods, Hux."

"Perhaps I could—when you're ready, of course, sir—head the interrogation team? I—"

The rest of his proposition is cut off and he gurgles around an invisible pressure on his windpipe. "Hmm, I don't think so," says Kylo Ren quite casually, as if he's discussing the weather. "I think she's more than a match for you, General. We wouldn't want you to come to any harm."

The meaning is clear: The prisoner belongs to the Supreme Leader, and anyone suggesting otherwise had better watch their back. Although what precisely he intends to do with her is anyone's guess: he mostly seems to leave her alone, throwing himself headlong into strategy meetings in the war room—to the delight of his generals and the disdain of Hux.

He doesn't go see Rey for several days. He keeps his distance. He tells his generals it's because he wants her to sit and wait for a while, but the reality is that he can't even consider invading her mind again: pulling out her thoughts and memories to use as what—sabacc chips in this war? Unthinkable. He won't do it. He won't go near her. No matter how Hux sneers or his generals wonder. He can't. He tells himself this: over and over again.

Unfortunately, Kylo Ren has never been able to listen to himself.

 

* * *

 

Rey looks up slightly at the sound of her door opening. She's come to recognize the sound by now: the unlocking mechanism, a muffled clank in the wall, and the hiss as the door opens. She's used to it: Qore and Kira and Charal are fascinated by her. They like to come in and spend time with her, and she enjoys their company. Qore's still trying to teach her pyramid chess (she's not very good) and Kira tells her stories about old missions and adventures (Rey's favorite is the one about the time Kira had to sneak out of Theed on Naboo disguised as a Gungan) and Charal, who Rey is warming up to, shares gossip. Rey doesn't know who Commander Lora Lux is or why it's such a scandal that she wasn't promoted, and she has no idea why Charal doubles up in laughter when trying to tell a story about Lieutenant Mitaka spilling noodles on himself, but she likes feeling included, and it's better than being locked into a chair and having her mind flipped through, so she grins along.

It is, then, a surprise when none of them enter today.

Instead, Kylo Ren steps inside. He's unmasked, and his eyes find her, never leaving her face as he closes the door behind him.

"Interrogation already?" she asks, determined to be unafraid.

"What?" He looks taken aback.

"It's been a week since I was cleared. I thought—" Rey lets her words trail off. He's holding a holobook, and he looks like he hasn't slept well in about a million years.

"I'm not here to interrogate you," Kylo says. "I have something for you. A gift. From the library."

"What is it?" She peers at the holobook in his hand.

"I thought you might be interested in it—it's a work on political theory." He crosses the room and hands it to her. Rey takes it and activates the screen, reading the title.

" _A Treatise On Monarchy and the Conduct of The Prince_ , by Chandar Voss. Who's that?"

"A philosopher from Alderaan. It's a very old book—very insightful. It laid the foundations for the Galactic Senate, and for most subsequent works of political theory."

"Have you read it?"

"Not in a very long time," he says carefully.

Rey squints at it, reading the chapter titles. _The Argument for a Democratic Republic. A Question of Social Rights. A Dissertation on Communal Living. In Regards to the Qualities a Leader Should Possess._ "You should read this, not me," she says.

Kylo ignores her and looks at the armchair opposite the sofa. "May I sit?"

Rey feels just a bit contrarian: she doesn't know why he's given her this book or why he's even here, and the last time he'd come in, he'd _spanked_ her—she quickly wipes the thought of _that_ from her mind. "Why are you asking me? It's your ship."

"It's your room," he points out.

"Cell," she reminds him.

"Of course."

There's a brief moment of silence, and she nods. Kylo sits, his hands spread on his knees like he's not sure what to do with them. "I thought perhaps you'd like something to read that isn't—" his eyes flicker up to her shelf of media—" _Coruscant Cosmopolitan_ or the _Galactic Weekly_."

Rey sits back, feigning wide-eyed innocence. "Oh, no, those were fascinating. Did you know there are apparently a hundred and six different ways to season a nerf roast?"

"I did not."

"And apparently," she continues, "according to the _Corellian Courtesan_ , there's ten great ways to, and I quote," here she raises her fingers to illustrate, _'_ _make him beg for it in bed'_. Really enthralling stuff."

Kylo goes very still for a moment, then unobtrusively twitches a corner of his cape over his lap, both hands coming to rest on the arms of the chair. "Maybe I should have had Kymber stock the holomags," he says evenly, his left eye just barely twitching.

Rey sits back, trying very hard not to grin. "No, no," she protests. "I like them.  Good information to have for later."

"Later," he repeats, like he's not sure he heard it correctly: his chest has gone absolutely still, rigid. Has he forgotten to _breathe_?

"You know," Rey says, looking back down at the book. "When I finally get out of here and find a nice person to settle down with."

"When you—" His black-gloved hands tighten on the armrests, and a sudden surge of rage and pain curls around him in the Force, so strongly that Rey almost recoils. His face barely changes, the subtlest of movements beneath the skin the only suggestion of the great tide of emotion beneath. And just like that, in the next breath, it's entirely smoothed over, his face gone blank and still again. "I see."

"You're upset," she says, and feels almost guilty. She hadn't been expecting _that_ reaction. "I was joking."

Kylo is silent for a moment, his dark eyes fixed on her face. "I don't enjoy being teased," he says, an edge to his voice. And he doesn't: Rey can see that now—being mocked touches a sore spot, something old and raw.

She should apologize. She should say something nice— _you idiot, he's got you locked up in a cell, don't apologize—_

Rey sets the holobook aside and stands up, taking a step over to his chair and standing there awkwardly for a moment, then sitting on the edge of the caf table, close enough that their knees interlock, but do not touch. "I'm sorry," she says, and she means it.

"No, I—" He closes his eyes and exhales slowly. "I’m sorry. I shouldn't allow my feelings to be so… transparent. It's difficult to control them around—" His eyes flicker up at her, and he doesn't finish his sentence.

"Around?" she prompts.

Kylo doesn’t respond, just stands up quickly, which has the unfortunate side effect of bringing the front of his trousers within six inches of Rey's upturned face, and _that's_ a sight to rip words out of his throat for a good five seconds. "Enjoy the book," he manages, and slips out sideways, heading for the door.

It slips shut, and Rey stares at it in frustration, then stands and goes back over to the couch, curling up with the holobook. At least it'll be meatier than the mags.

 

* * *

 

Kylo manages to control himself for just as long as it takes to get back into his chambers, where he locks the door and yanks open his collar, heat emanating from his skin. He barely even notices Talla and Charal outside the door giving each other looks as he slams his hand down on the bio-print lock.

He's so, so hot.

 _Rey. Rey. Rey._ He pulls his cloak off with one hand, tugs his pants down with the other and grabs for the personal lubricant and a sani-wipe, slicking his hand from base to fingers and sliding down his throbbing cock with a fist. His thighs tremble, and he collapses onto his bed.

_Rey's hands. Rey's face by his thigh, looking up, his cock in her mouth, lips open, dragging along the tongue, smooth and wet—swallowing him down—_

He hears a pathetic, low noise, and realizes it's come out of his throat. His fist tightens and he speeds himself along, the wet squelching noises growing louder.

_Rey moaning around his cock. Rey's hands creeping up his belly, his chest, he pulls her up to him and closes his mouth on a nipple, hard and pebbly in his teeth, sucking, moaning—his fingers in her mouth, her cheeks hollowed as she sucks, thumb brushing her smooth little cheek—_

Kylo's other hand finds his mouth, and his lips close around his index and middle fingers, teeth pressing down into the knuckles. _Rey's mouth. Soft. Smooth and wet. Mine. Mine._ He can feel his balls draw up tightly, the beginning waves of release shuddering through his gut, and with a desperate sound ground out between his teeth, he spills all over himself, pulsing streaks of come across his fist and into the sani-wipe.

He curls forward, trying to catch his breath as his climax recedes, and realizes there are tears in the corners of his eyes, blurring his vision. Kylo reaches up and scrubs across his face with a hand, obliterating them angrily, then collects himself and finishes cleaning up in stony silence.


	9. pull down the stars

Training mornings are incredibly tense. Kylo, sweating in his training gear, moves like he's in pain and pushes them through multiple repeated drills, barking out orders and demanding double sparring sessions.

Charal gets cracked across the cheekbone one morning during a particularly rough round of quarterstaff combat, and Kylo doesn't seem to hear Qore's indignant shout, just turns his back and barks for Obri to jump into the ring.

She obeys, her blue eyes narrowed, and balances lightly on the balls of her feet as Charal slips out, clutching her face.

"Here," says Kira, and cracks a cold pack. "Hold that steady." She's not very good at first aid or much healing—that's Qore's field of expertise—but she knows enough to apply ice to a bruise. Qore's already hurrying over, gold-brown eyes wide with worry.

"What's gotten into him?" Charal demands under her breath, wincing and giving Kylo a sideways look.

"Maker knows." Kira wipes her forehead.

Qore bends to check the pack. "Keep that there for a few minutes," she orders. "I'll get you a bacta patch—"

In the ring, Obri missteps and Kylo lands a blow to her gut, air whooshing out of the woman's lungs. By all rights, the round should have ended there, but he goes a step further and flings her to the ground, bringing his staff directly down towards her face—

Obri blocks it bare-handed without thinking, the heavy synthplast smashing into her palms with a hideous _crack_. She lets out a scream of pain, but doesn't let go. Talla lets out a wounded cry, half-strangled. "Hey!" shouts Kira, outraged, jerking to her feet.

Kylo yanks the staff away from Obri's hands and points it at Kira. "Get in." His eyes are flinty and dark.

Kira marches to the ring and kneels down by Obri. "You all right?"

Obri is holding her hands in front of her like she's not sure what to do with them. "It's fine," she says through her teeth. Her arms are shaking, and she's fighting tears.

"It is not fine." Kira looks up, intending to make some scathing remark at Kylo, but he's glaring at them both. "Qore?" she calls. "Can you take her?"

Qore steps across the floor and kneels. "Come on, then," she says warmly. "Feels like your metacarpals are fractured. Let's get you to medical." She helps Obri up, and the women step out of the ring.

Kira turns on Kylo. "What is _wrong_ with you?" she demands.

He doesn't answer. He whirls the staff, and she senses emotions curling around him, a toxic miasma of desperation and fury and revenge.

"Fine," she hisses through her teeth. Both vibroblades come out, and she stands ready. "Have it your way."

"I _will_ ," he snarls, and she doesn't have time to think about that before Kylo's on her, swinging like a man possessed. She catches the first four strikes, blocking and whirling away, ducking and jumping. Over and over. He gets one solid hit in her ribs, and Kira grabs the staff before he can swing it away for another, slams it to the ground with the Force, and drives at him with all the momentum she can muster. Her blade cuts the staff neatly in two, and he swings at her ferociously with one—and misses.

Her vibro-blade cuts into the fabric of his training shirt, leaving a long, clean cut, shallow and seared shut, across his chest. Kylo bellows in pain and tries to get another strike in, but she ducks him easily and marks his shoulder, then his neck, then his forearm. The room smells of burned meat.

"Yield," she pants, stepping back into a prepared stance.

Kylo shakes his head like a wounded animal, gasping for air. He drops one of the halves of his staff, and charges her head-on. She's caught off guard and doesn't have time to switch her hold on the blades before he's crashing into her, knocking them both out of the ring and into the wall behind. The blade in her right hand snaps in two like it's made of straw. He weighs a good thirty kilos more than she does, and her aching rib screams in protest as his full weight traps her to the wall and pins her there with a forearm to her throat, the staff pressed into her torso. His free hand pulls back to strike—Obri shouts " _No!"_ from the sidelines—

And a very sharp, hot little pain in a very delicate area snaps him out of his berserker's rage.

He looks down. Kira's left hand is holding her remaining vibroblade firmly, blade just sizzling against the gusset of his pants.

"Think very hard about your next move," she rasps past his forearm.

Kylo releases her, stumbles back, and bends double, his hands shaking on his knees as his back heaves for breath.

Qore races up, worry written all over her face. Kira can feel the Force prodding into her neck, Qore seeing her throat, the damage done. "You need to go to medical with Obri. Now."

"I’m fine—" Kira chokes on her own swelling windpipe and hacks for a breath, gagging. She signs to Qore quickly, her hands moving into shapes: _I'll go._

"Good," Qore says decisively. "I'll escort you both. And Kylo should go for the burns—"

But Kylo's already gone, his broad back disappearing through the door."He's going to medical," Kymber says. "I'll go with him." She slides off her seat and follows, her close-cut white hair gleaming in the light.

Qore shakes her head in exasperation and turns back to Kira and Obri. "Come along. Don't try to talk. Some bacta will do you both a world of good."

 

* * *

 

Kylo sits on the edge of the examination table in his private medical bay. A droid is busily applying bacta and biotape to his burns, and he forces himself to hold as still as he can.

_Pain is good. Pain gives you something to focus on. Use it._

In front of him, on the table opposite, her long legs almost reaching the floor, Kymber Ren watches him. He's always felt comfortable around her: whether that's her Force-assisted manipulation abilities or not, he doesn't know or care. High-cheekboned, long-necked, delicate features: lavender-gray-pale skin and colorless eyes. Her hair is white, but she normally keeps it close-shaved. There's a pale downy fuzz on the curve of her skull, and he wonders idly if she's going to shave it again soon.

"Probably," she says, and Kylo realizes she's reading him, his defenses down.

"Hm," he says indifferently.

"What…" She hesitates, her legs swinging slightly. "What's it like?"

"What's what like?"

Kymber shrugs, looking for the right words. "Feeling…the way you feel toward…the prisoner."

Kylo's throat constricts. He wants to deny it, throw something. His hands shake, and the droid wobbles slightly, its gyroscope gone haywire for a moment. "I don't," he says tightly, trying to control himself.

"You do. It makes you angry," she says matter-of-factly. "You hit Charal and broke Obri's hands and almost strangled Kira. You were so deeply…ensconced in the Dark that you barely knew what you were doing. I felt it. Are you angry at _us_?"

"I—" It's such a simple question, and it fills him with shame. The med-droid busily resumes its work on his shoulder. "I'm not angry at any of you. No. I—"

"You're angry at yourself," Kymber says, and he can feel her probing gently into his mind. He doesn't stop her. "I can feel it, but I don't understand it. You want the prisoner far away from you, but you also want her close to you. You're furious that she was harmed, but you want her back with the Resistance—where she would _surely_ be harmed—"

"It's complicated," Kylo says thickly. "I—I know my feelings are conflicted. I know that. I can't make them _not_ be conflicted. I want—I know she's repelled by me. I know that. But I would do anything—anything for her. I would destroy worlds if she asked. I would pull down the stars to make her smile. She's in my every waking thought. I kept thinking if I distracted myself enough—if I pushed and pushed myself, it would be better. I wouldn't think of her. But—"

"It's not working, is it?" Kymber asks.

"No," he admits. The droid floats away, and he looks down at his newly healed chest, only the faintest of lines where Kira's blades had cut him.

"That looks good," Kymber says, pointing.

"I'll shower and get dressed," he says, slipping off the table. "Wait outside."

"Yes, Master," she says, and heads for the door.

Once it's closed, Kylo Ren heads to the small attached fresher, where a change of clothes is waiting, warm and clean from the laundry. He strips and hesitates, then looks at himself in the mirror, a floor-to-ceiling affair tucked into the wall space between the sink and the commode.

His own voice echoes in his memory. _What do you think you'll see if I do?_

 _The face of my son,_ says the ghost of his father.

His face is, as always, strange-looking and angry and awkward: nose too long, crooked chin, lips too thick, moles scattered across the pale skin. There are dark shadows, purplish, beneath his eyes, and more lines at the corners than he remembers. He's lost some weight in the past year as well, as evidenced by the slightly hollower cheeks. The thin grey streaks at his temples are mostly hidden, but the ones up by his forehead are visible: silver threads on black. His chest is broad, his shoulders thick with muscle and rounded. The puckered scar, like a crater, on his left shoulder is still faintly pink, along with the scar on his right bicep. The other scar, the one Rey had given him—

— _Rey_ —

—is pale, a thin, carved ridge along the inside of his right eyebrow, the outside of his cheek, his jaw, his throat, his chest. Kylo reaches up and touches it absently, his fingers stroking the hard, senseless flesh, then drops his hand to his side. His gaze moves down. His scarred waist is thick with solid muscle; despite the lack of narrowness there, the twin separations between his oblique muscles and his hip flexors are sharply defined, bracketing the dark thatch of hair between his hips that he keeps closely trimmed. Below that, his cock hangs soft, heavy and solid, a dark dull color. Thighs: thick and long, corded with muscle and lightly furred with dark hair; calves long and slender, tending towards leanness, darker hair there like the hair on his forearms. His body is scattered with freckles and moles: ugly little blemishes on his pallid skin.

Ugly.

Kylo looks away from the mirror. Idiotic, to think anyone could ever harbor feelings for him. Weak and foolish. He'd sacrificed so much to the Dark Side, and yet…

And yet the light still calls to him. A siren song, wearing the faces of his mother, of his father, of Rey: _come home._ He sees his mother in his eyes, his father in the set of his chin and his mouth. His father. His _father—_

Kylo wrenches a towel bar off the wall and smashes the mirror with two sharp blows, the transparisteel shattering and cracking into spiderwebs, each piece reflecting a part of him, over and over, a thousand Kylo Rens, and all of them broken and ugly and conflicted and cruel and utterly unlovable.

He drops the bar and gets into the shower cubicle, turns the water as cold as it can possibly go, and stands under the freezing spray. It numbs his skin, and he slowly slips down the wall, sitting with his knees up, as water pours down his face and body in icy rivulets.

Kylo stays under the water as long as he can stand it, until his hands and feet are numb and tingling.

If any tears are shed, he cannot tell.

 

* * *

 

"How's the throat?" asks Qore, stepping aside to speak to Kira as she's on her way back to her quarters.

Kira smiles half-heartedly. "Better. Four hours in bacta does wonders. Swelling's gone, and Obri's hands are doing fine."

"Good to hear. I'd feel terrible about beating her at pyramid chess if she didn't have working hands."

A snort works its way out of Kira. "I'll see you in training tomorrow morning, yes?"

"Of course. Good night." Qore pats her on the shoulder, and heads off the opposite way.

Kira opens the door to her quarters and sighs as it shuts behind her. Her quarters are like everyone else's: low bed, Holonet screen, fresher, shelf for books or personal effects. Small, because they're guards, not guests— _or prisoners_ , she thinks with some aggravation. There's something on her desk, and she crosses the room cautiously to see what it is.

A black box, with a note attached. She picks it up, and immediately recognizes the handwriting, a graceful, forceful script: an ancient art forgotten by most.

 _Please accept my deepest apologies for my behavior._ He had started to sign it with something unreadable, then blotted it out with ink and signed it _Kylo._

Kira sets it aside after a moment and opens the box. Inside, nestled on a bed of form-foam, are two beautifully matched vibroblades. She lifts one up, surprised at how light it is, and realizes with some shock it's songsteel: both blades perfectly balanced and wickedly sharp, precisely at the length she prefers. She's not sure whether she's more stunned at the apology or at the outrageous expense: the blades must have cost a small fortune to acquire.

A presence brushes against her mind. _Kira Ren. You received my gift?_

She traces the hilt with a thumb, looking at the delicate overlay of electrum. _I did. I must wonder what you gave the others._

His Force-presence wavers for a moment. _Obri Ren received a pair of vibro-knuckles. Charal Ren was given a Blackwing crystal. They were both very pleased._

Kira smiles to herself. _I'm sure Obri is thrilled to have even more ways to punch you in the face, Master._

There's a huff through the Force. _Are you—do you like them?_

She raises a blade and brings it down on the desk. It sinks through the duraplast like a hot knife through butter. _I should let you choke me out more often. I'm very pleased. Thank you._

Kylo's mind has a distinct satisfied tone. _Excellent. Good night, Kira Ren._

_Good night, Master._

She spends the night curled around the blades in bed, both hands on the hilts, dreaming of green meadows and Jana's laughing eyes.


	10. the lights go out

Obri palms open his door one morning about a week and a half later and steps into the sitting area. "Master? I'm here for your 0800 escort to the hangar presentation." There's silence from his sleeping area, and she sighs. It's not like she blames him, parades and speeches are dumb as hell; but they get the young guys riled up. Good for morale. Whatever that is. "Kylo? You haven't locked yourself in the 'fresher again, have you?"

He's been showing up late to meetings in the past several days, and retiring early, avoiding training sessions. Is he sick? No, that’s not possible. He rarely gets sick.

Still silence. Obri frowns and sniffs. It smells musty, like some hibernating animal has taken up residence in the room. She'll have to make sure the cleaning droids are still coming in. Maybe there's a bug in the system. _Can you smell that, or is it just me?_

She motions Kira in from where she's standing outside the outer door, and heads to the door separating the bedroom from the large sitting room, which is slightly ajar. The other Knight edges in, sensing Obri's confusion. There's a little light streaming through, and she can sense Kylo behind it, but he's blocked everything out and he's very intensely focused on something she can't quite see. Obri knocks, but he doesn't answer. "We're going to be late," she starts to say, slightly annoyed as she pushes the door open, but instantly freezes at the sight that meets her eyes, Kira making a strangled noise behind her.

Kylo's half naked on the edge of the bed. That in and of itself wouldn't be scandalous—just unusual; he normally wears black clothing from throat to toe. She's seen him naked before: they all have. No, Obri's not startled at the fact that he's stripped off his sleeping shirt, and neither is Kira.

What they _are_ shocked at is the fact that one hand is frantically pumping up and down on his dick, his pants shuffled down past his ass, and even _more_ embarrassing, Obri had apparently stepped in at the absolute worst time she possibly could: he's got his free hand fisted in the sheets and there's come streaking his belly and hand and oh, Force, she does _not_ get paid enough for this.

"Kriffing _hell_ ," he groans, very pointedly not looking at Obri. " _Privacy_."

Obri whirls on her heel in the doorway and faces the outer room, tamping down her embarrassment as she makes horrified eye contact with Kira. It's not like she's never seen a man jerking off before, but _Kylo_ particularly? Never. She waits until his breathing slows and she feels the tide of his climax recede a little before she clears her throat. "Apologies for disturbing you, Master. You didn't answer when I called. We have fifteen minutes until we need to be in the hangar for the presentation. I'll—just wait outside."

"It's—" His voice sounds rough, husky with exhaustion. "No need. I'm sorry. I should have locked the door. Wait there." There's a shift of movement, and she hears him get up and head for the fresher. He's walking oddly, and the both feel a shift of—pain?

Kira sniffs the room delicately as they wait. Yeah, Obri's right: the whole place smells like a breeding stall in Canto Bight. She'll reprogram the cleaning droids to come up more than once a week and maybe spray some air freshener while they're at it.

Kylo comes back out of the fresher and clears his throat awkwardly. "I’m decent," he says.

"Good." Obri turns around. He's in his black basics. "Are you in pain?"

Kira hurries to explain. "We sensed… some discomfort."

"I—" He narrows his eyes at her, with a glance toward Obri. "Yes. But not something—not—something I want medical assistance with."

Obri looks baffled. "If you're hurt, you should—"

"I'm not _hurt_ ," he says through his teeth with his jaw clenched. "I'm. It's. _Chafing._ "

Obri looks at the ground and says nothing.

Oh. _Oh._ Kira swallows. "Chafing," she echoes, as he stomps to his wardrobe and pulls out pieces of clothing. "Is that…a normal side effect?"

"No," he snaps, jerking on black trousers.

"Master, don't take this the wrong way, but I think you may have a problem."

Kylo yanks on a tunic and belts it tightly around his waist. "She thinks I don't _care_ about her," he says sharply. "She thought I sent Obri and Talla to kill her for sport."

Obri looks chastened and backs up a step. "I, uh. I'll be outside." She shoots Kira a look and says, _Good luck with **that**_ , and beats a hasty exit out the door.

 _Coward._ Kira shuts her eyes. "Force. Have you told her that's not—"

"Of course I did!" he almost yells, then controls himself. "Of course I did. And she may have believed me. But I don't know what to do with her. I can't hurt her—I _won't_ —and I won't let anyone else touch her, but she's the only thing we have against the Resistance."

"You have to decide what you want more, then. The Order, or the girl." Kira crosses her arms. "And that still doesn't explain why this room smells like a couple of banthas have been breeding non-stop for a week and a half."

"That's an extremely specific comparison." Kylo settles a cloak around his shoulders. She just raises an eyebrow and waits, so he sits down heavily on the edge of the bed. "I can't stop thinking about her," he says. "Every moment I'm awake is torment. I have her here, on board, and she's—clearly unwilling. I—I crossed a line when we first spoke privately."

"Is that why she punched you in the face?"

"Yes." He looks miserable. "Among other reasons."

"And they were?"

He shoots her a look from under his hair, then looks at his lap. "I, ah. I—I—" He presses his mouth into a line and shakes his head sharply. "I turned her over my knee and—and I spanked her."

Kira fights to not sound too shocked. "You did _what_?"

Kylo's scarlet to the ears, the words pouring out of him. "She wouldn't stop shouting insults at me—I couldn't think of anything else to do and—and—afterward, she got up and there was, she, she'd _liked_ it—I think—and she shouted at me to leave and then she punched me in the mouth and I'd never—" He struggles for a moment, trying to find the right words, but settles back into stubbornness. "I’m the Supreme Leader. I can do as I please." He sounds like a child declaring himself king of the play-lot.

Kira opens her mouth, then closes it, then opens it again. "Why do you think she liked it?"

"She—there—" He swallows. "There was…physical evidence. I think."

"Physical—what?"

"Well—Kira, you're a woman," he says, staring up at her like he'd just realized she was a gendered being and not a sexless killing machine. "What are the physical signs of—of—female—of—"

"Arousal?" asks Kira, and he nods tightly. It never fails to amaze her just how _childish_ he can be, how unprepared he is for certain aspects of life, especially in the face of all his incredible power and raw strength. "Well. Let me think. Dilated pupils, increased heart rate, increasing blood flow to the lower half of the body. Beyond that, most of it's internal. Sexual tissues swell—"

"Does anything become _wet_?" he demands.

"Well, yes, the outer area might become damp due to the inner natural lubrication— _wait_ , are you saying she—"

"Yes," he says, and does not elaborate further.

"Right," says Kira, and leans against the wall, wishing she was literally anywhere else right now. "After this stupid parade thing is done, you and I are going to have a talk."

 

* * *

 

Lying alone in her cell, deep in Snoke's lair, Keida had shivered and shook until she thought her teeth would rattle right out of their sockets. The place barely had any atmosphere, and the distant star that lit it gave no heat.

 _Keida,_ said Jana, somewhere in her head. _Are you there?_

 _I'm here,_ she had whispered in her mind.

_I think this was a bad idea._

Keida had fought a smile in spite of herself and her gnawing stomach, and pulled her hands close to her chest. _I think you're right,_ she'd said.

 _I can't feel my face,_ Jana had whispered, floating out through the Force. _Keida…_

Her signature had gone cold, and Keida had cried, alone and silent.

Then Tyoth had died. Lahani. Nayri. Khaylia. They had all reached out and died of the cold and the dark, leaving Keida all alone, crying in her frozen cell.

It wasn't until much later she learned that it had all been a trick of Snoke's, to bring her to her lowest, to make her think that all her friends were dead (but oh, oh, he'd cared: he'd done it because he cared, because he loved her like a father, he wanted her to be strong, _you will one day understand_.)

That had been the day she had learned that the Force could be used to lie.

That had been the day she had sworn to herself she would never again believe anyone dead unless she saw them with her own two eyes.

 

* * *

 

The speech, given by Hux with Kylo Ren looming close over his shoulder, is invigorating to the troops and incredibly boring to the Knights standing at Kylo's left and right side.

 _Did we really have to be up here listening to Orange Weasel giving a fascist speech?_ groans Qore mentally.

 _Of course,_ says Talla. _Good for morale. Anyway, when did you start being a politician?_

Qore shrugs. _Read a few holobooks about it. I'm not into totalitarianism. I think I lean more…democratic? Where all planets are equally represented—_

 _Not that this isn't fascinating, but we should pay attention._ Charal sounds bored. _But I think I'm a libertarian. Small government, personal freedom._

 _That's dumb. You need some kind of strong government to protect the weak and at-risk in society,_ says Talla.

 _The weak can die, the strong survive,_ says Obri.

 _That's a terrible way to run a government. Who'd want to live in a government like that?_ Talla sounds prickly.

 _Me, obviously. What's it to you?_ Obri sounds forcefully callous, and Talla lets her hurt waft through the Force. They're fighting again, over Maker knows what, and everyone else groans silently.

Kymber sounds bored. _Look, quit the lover's quarrel stuff. We need to focus on—_

But whatever Kymber had wanted to focus on, she never gets to say, because every light in the hangar goes out at once as Hux is finishing his speech, and it's only the instinct to protect their master that sends Qore, Kira, and Charal dashing to Kylo's side in the dark.

Kymber's the only one with the advantage: she can see in another spectrum, and is unencumbered by night-blindness. She whips out her vibroblade sword and activates it. "Back!" she screams. "There's—" She doesn’t have time to get across what she can see before she's furiously fighting someone, her sword burning with electric flame, carving apart the dark.

Kira's knocked sideways by something unseen. She grapples with it, and smells leather and gabarwool— _Hux?_ He shoves a knee between her legs and she kicks up with both thighs, slamming into his crotch. He shrieks like a kettle and falls sideways.

"Lights!" screams Qore from somewhere very far away. "Lights, get the lights—" Her voice is cut off in a terrible, torn noise, and Talla wails in fury somewhere else.  Kira slams the Force back into the circuits, reversing the current and forcing the lights back on, and is almost blinded by them. She squints to make out the scene.

The hangar is in pandemonium. Hux is nowhere to be seen—the man she'd grappled with is another person, someone she's never seen before: some petty officer who looks shocked that the person he'd been fighting with was her. She grabs him by the collar and dives into his mind as he trembles on the ground. A quick check through the Force confirms it: he wasn't involved and thought he was heroically fighting off an assassin. Kymber is locked in a battle with a person in a mechanic's jumpsuit, her vibro-sword hissing against a pair of long, wickedly toothed vibroblades. Kira mentally files that away—she can handle it herself—and looks around.

Qore's kneeling on the ground, holding her hands to her throat, and blood is spilling out from between her dark fingers. Talla is clutching her, screaming for help, and Obri is furiously emptying rounds of blasterfire into a dead body on the floor in an officer's uniform. Charal is jumping off the dais, pell-mell toward the side of the room.

"Stop!" Kira orders Obri. "We need to identify—"

"Kira," says a voice, and she turns, realizing in all this pandemonium she forgot to look for Kylo. He's on his knees, one hand pressed to his stomach, swaying slightly.

"Kylo?" She hurries over and clutches him by the shoulders. He pulls his hand away and there's a ruby stain of blood on his palm. His face has gone white as paper. "Press your hand down on it. That's it. Do you know what you were—"

"Blades," he says faintly, wheezing. "They attacked with _blades_ —primitive—"

"I found Hux!" Charal shouts, and drags the man out ungraciously from behind a banner. He's been bound and gagged and looks absolutely furious, kicking and struggling. "Someone—Master?"

Kylo bends forward and very ungracefully collapses into a heap on the platform, breathing shallowly.

"Medical!" screams Talla in high-pitched terror. "Medical, someone get medical down here _now_ —"

"Hold on," Kira says through her teeth. She rips open her master's tunic and finds the stab wounds, multiple, scattered across his stomach and chest like rubies. They're almost two inches long with ragged edges, pouring blood by the second, life draining out of him. His chest is stained wine-red with blood. "Force. Can we go a month without someone getting karking stabbed around here?" Both her hands press down on his skin, slippery and sticky and smelling of iron. "You hold on. Hold on for Rey, if nothing else. You hear me?"

"Yes," he breathes, his lips white as chalk. "I hear you. If I—if—"

"You're not," she orders. "You're _not_." Losing Kylo is unthinkable: their Master, the Supreme Leader. She won't entertain that for a moment. Then she realizes he's lying in a pool of blood, and understands: he's been run through, front to back, by the serrated blades.

"Tell Rey," he manages. "Tell her. Protect her."

Kira probes with the Force and finds the damage: perforated gut, kidney, spleen, liver, punctured lung, severed blood vessels. She can't fix that with the Force. Qore's the one with the propensity for healing, and Qore's—

Qore—

She steals a look back and sees Qore, coughing and spitting out her own blood as she desperately tries to knit the gash in her throat back together.

"I'll protect her," she says, her fingers and hands still trying to plug the holes in Kylo's body. "I promise."

He doesn't answer.

"Kylo?" She looks down, and his eyes are blank, glassy and staring at the ceiling, and wouldn't it just be the karking icing on the cake if he'd up and died while she was ignoring him and looking around for Qore—

She presses two stained fingers to his throat. A pulse. Slow and weak, but there.

"You better stay alive, Master, or I'll kill you," she says through her teeth. There's a sudden, ludicrous idea in her mind that he engineered his own assassination just to get out of the talk she'd threatened him with. "You won't get out of our conversation that easily," she tells him.

It might be her imagination, but she's almost sure the corner of his mouth quirks up in a vague approximation of a smile before he goes very still and pale and no amount of shouting can rouse him again.

 

* * *

 

Rey jumps up from the couch and sets down her holobook as the door to her room— _cell_ , she reminds herself, it's a cell no matter how nice it is—slides open. She's been on edge and waiting for an interrogation for over a week, and she's sure it's all part of some psychological process to break her down with anticipation.

But it's not Kylo Ren who walks through the door. It's not even guards. It's just Kira Ren, and she's not even wearing her helmet. She's just in her black tunic and leggings and leather boots, and her sleeves are rolled up, her thin hands and forearms stained with blood.

Rey looks at her, and at the blood, and listens to the Force curling around them both and realizes something very, very bad has happened.

"Rey," says Kira, and her voice sounds hoarse. "You must come with me at once."

"Has something happened to Ben?" Rey demands, fear rising in her throat.

Kira nods tersely, not bothering to correct her with a _Kylo Ren_ , and that can't be good. "There was an assassination attempt during a rally this afternoon. Two men, one disguised as a technician and the other dressed like an officer. We don't know who was behind it yet. We took one alive, but he poisoned himself before we could question him. Qore's been badly injured. She's in medical."

"And Ben?" asks Rey, too frightened to pretend she doesn't care, too frightened to bother masking it with the Force.

Kira swallows. "Kylo Ren's last order to me was to protect you. I'm here to bring you to him. He's dying."


	11. blurring on every side

Rey follows Kira down the corridor to the main hallway. Kira didn't bother putting restraints on her, and Rey's grateful to her for that. Everything feels very numb and slow, like she's walking inside a dream.

_He's dying. He's dying. He's dying._

It repeats like a mantra inside her head, until the meaning of the words gets lost.

_He's dying he's dying he's dying he's dying—_

"Where are the other Knights?" she hears herself ask Kira.

"With their master," Kira replies. "They would be nowhere else."

"He can't be dying," Rey whispers. She'd seen him survive being shot with a bowcaster, multiple saber wounds. He's resilient. He's strong. He can't possibly be dying. _Idiot, you should be fine with it. He's an evil dictator who tried to kill you at least twice._ But the crushing feeling in her gut is absolutely not happiness. She's not a fool, either—if he dies, then nothing but the Knights stand between her and General Hux and the whole First Order. Rey keeps telling herself that as they walk. _You're only upset because he protects you. That's all. That's all._

"The assassins used toothed blades. Primitive, but capable of inflicting tremendous internal damage." Kira speaks like she's reciting off a medical record. "He's lost too much blood. He's holding on, but not strong enough to heal himself, or to survive surgical knitting."

Rey shakes her head. "Can't one of you—"

"Qore is our healer—or as close of a thing as we have to a healer." Kira's thin mouth is pressed into a line. "She had her throat slit." Rey makes a little choked noise. "So she was a bit occupied, and in no position to assist. As you can imagine."

"Is she—"

"She's unable to speak. They have her in bacta right now. Hopefully the damage isn't too severe. She fought them the whole way in. She wanted to—she wanted to heal Kylo, and would have gladly died to do it. But she knew she couldn't. And we can't: we'd do more harm than good." Tears gather in Kira's eyes, and Rey quickly reaches out and tightly grasps the woman's bloodstained hand in hers. She knows what it's like to nearly lose a friend, and Darksider or not, she feels compassion for the Knight.

Kira doesn't pull away. She just grips Rey's hand back, her fingers trembling, until the lift comes to a halt in the medbay and the doors hiss open.

The place is quiet, orderlies in pale blue moving up and down the halls. None of them look at Rey, or seem surprised that one of Kylo's guards is holding her hand as they walk down the hall.

"The blood on your arms," says Rey under her breath as they approach the last room, the private medical bay with the shining black door. "Is it—"

"It's his," she says. "We're all here. Go in. He's waiting for you."

Rey tightens her grip on Kira's hand. "I can't," she says.

"Yes, you can. Go. I'll be right here."

Rey takes one step, then another, and then she's inside the room.

Four faces swivel to look at her, and she wants to shrink back against Kira, especially at the sight of Obri and Talla, but forces herself to look at the person in their center instead, laid out on the black examination table like a corpse.

It's him. He's been stripped: very still and so pale he's nearly translucent, like a fine marble carving. Biotape and bacta patches cover the stab wounds on his stomach, a scattering of green and black patches on his skin.

Silently, one of the Knights—the Zabrak with shiny black hair, Rey remembers, her name is Charal—gets up from her seat at Kylo's left side and indicates with a hand that Rey should sit.

Rey lets go of Kira, draws close, and looks down at him. "Ben," she whispers, and her throat chokes with tears. "Ben. It's me. It's Rey. Can you hear me?"

His breathing is so, so soft. Rey can barely hear it. Behind her, she can hear Charal talking to Kira quietly. "They said they've done all they can do."

"Don't you dare die," Rey demands. She reaches for his hand and squeezes it, desperately trying to think of anything to say. The flesh is cold and inert as ice. "You still have to—we—you were supposed to question me, weren't you? How are you going to do that if you're dead?" _How am I supposed to tell Leia that you're dead?_

"Do we know who was behind it?" asks Kira.

Charal sounds tense. "Not yet. Both men had no markings, no clues on them. Could be the Resistance. I don't know."

"It wasn't the Resistance," Rey manages. "Leia would never—she'd _never_ kill her own son." _Even though with the Supreme Leader out of the way, the war would be over. A power vacuum. Instability—no, no, stop!_ Rey swallows and tries to shut out her racing mind. Leia would never. She knows that as surely as she knows the sun on Jakku rises and sets.

That quiets the Knights for a moment, and Rey leans back over Ben's face. The Force is with her, but she doesn't know how to use it for something like this. She contents herself with quietly meditating; reaching into his mind, sweeping down his body, probing at the wounds, looking at the damage.

_Stop that._

She jolts. _Ben?_

 _It… tickles._ He sounds exhausted, even in his mind. _Rey?_

_Yes, it's me, you idiot. You're not allowed to die._

_I'm not?_

_No. If you're gonna die, it'll be because I killed you._ She tightens her grip on his cold hand. _Can you feel that?_

_Yes._

Rey puts her hand over his left side, and focuses on one of the least damaged areas. With a quick little movement that feels almost like…pushing two droplets of water together, she seals off his damaged blood vessels there, carefully closing the internal wounds up like a zipper. _That wasn't so hard. You try. If you live—_ She casts about desperately for a decent offer. _If you live, I'll kiss you right on your stupid face. Just try. Please._

He's silent for a moment, and she senses a massive surge of desperate energy, a last gasp. It's sustained for a moment, and his whole body goes tense, chest lifting off the table. Kylo Ren opens his eyes and looks right at her before slumping back, going limp and nerveless. Every alarm attached to his body goes off at once, blaring and beeping. There's a scurry of quick movement behind her, and for a moment she's pushed to the side as an orderly and a doctor come running in and start doing checks on the equipment, scanning Kylo with several tools Rey doesn't know the name of. She curls up in a chair as unobtrusively as she can and listens to them.

"Oxygen holding steady."

"Blood pressure falling—"

"I have the plasma, sir—"

"Get that hooked into his arm and get him on fluids, stat. His organs are _healed—_ "

Kira comes over and squats by Rey, bringing her face on a level with hers. "We can't do anything else for him. Come."

Rey shakes her head. "I’m staying," she says stubbornly. "Right here, until he wakes up."

"I can't leave an unrestrained prisoner in the medical bay," Kira says under her breath.

"I'll stay with her and cover her," says Charal, glancing at Kira. "You need to scrub down."

Kira doesn't like that either. "I promised him I'd stay with her—that I'd protect her—"

"Kira. She'll be fine. Go shower, for kark's sake. You smell like a slaughterhouse."

Charal sits on the chair at the door as the rest of the Knights file out of the room. Rey keeps her eyes fixed on Ben, and she doesn't move.

_Please be all right. Please. Please._

_Please._

 

* * *

 

Kylo Ren becomes gradually aware that he is conscious.

That's a good thing, he thinks. It means he's not dead. Or maybe there's consciousness after death after all, and he _is_ dead—maybe he's become one with the Force. _If I'm one with the Force, Luke is here_ , he thinks, and that's enough of a frightening thought to force his eyes open. He sucks air into his lungs sharply and coughs, gagging, on a tube in the back of his throat. He can't dislodge it, and he keeps feeling like he's going to be sick, and he reaches up with one hand to yank it out—

"Stop that," says a voice, and he manages to focus on the face it belongs to. "That's important, don't pull on it. Breathe through your nose."

Wide hazel eyes. A smattering of freckles on a straight little nose.

_Rey._

So he isn't dead after all. He's not sure if that's a comfort or not. He does his best to obey, clamping his lips shut around the tube and trying to breathe through his nose. He wants to ask what's going on, but he's afraid if he opens his mouth again, he might get sick, and he cannot, absolutely _cannot_ do that in front of Rey.

"It's a nutrient line," Rey explains. "You lost a lot of blood and they've been feeding you a nice tasty brew of vitamins. Iron, calcium, all that. You can probably have it taken out—we can ask someone."

He manages to catch hold of her sleeve with his other hand, and looks up at her. _Don't go_ , he wants to say. _Please._

She must see something in his eyes, because she turns to Charal, who's watching intently from the chair in the corner. "Charal, could you, um, see if we can get the tube out?"

"Sure," Charal says, and crosses over to the datapanel, tapping in a message and speaking in a low tone to whoever's manning the desk.

Kylo releases Rey's sleeve and just looks at her. She looks tired: there are circles under her reddened eyes and her lips are a little pale. Her nose is red, too. "You scared us all half to death," she says. "At least you're awake now."

Awake, yes; and what's more, alive. Kylo reaches out, and the Force curls around him, filling his body with new strength and clearing the muddled exhaustion from his mind. He decides maybe he can risk gagging around the tube. "Knights," he says hoarsely, and swallows, fighting the reflex. "Safe?"

"All of them are unharmed except Qore," Rey tells him. "She had her throat cut. She was in bacta—I think she might have gotten out. I've just been in here with you and Charal for the past three hours."

Three hours. "Who—" He closes his eyes, swallowing convulsively. "Who did it?"

"Two assassins. Nobody knows who sent them, there's still investigating going on." Rey rubs her eyes. "Charal said they cut the lights to the hangar and attacked. It was mayhem." Behind her, Charal nods in agreement.

The orderly comes in and carefully removes the tube. Kylo goes rigid against the table until it's out, then clears his throat sharply. "Thank you," he says to the orderly, who nods and brings him water.

The door opens again, and Kira walks in, stopping short at the sight of Kylo sitting upright, a sheet around his midsection, gulping down water like his life depends on it. She goes very pale and leans against the door, and even Rey can feel the wave of relief pouring off her. "Master," she manages. "You're alive. I'll—I'll tell the others."

"Is Qore all right?" he demands.

"Yes. She got out of bacta containment an hour ago. She's not allowed to speak until they can run a scan to confirm her larynx was healed properly."

"Good. Both of you go tell the others. I want to speak to Rey alone."

Charal frowns, hesitant to object. "Master—"

"Charal. Go."

They leave, and Rey's alone in the room with Kylo.

He tries very hard to not think about the fact that someone stripped him naked under the sheet. _Focus, you idiot._ "I think Hux was behind the attack," he says after a moment. "He's wanted to get rid of me for quite a while."

"Charal said he was dragged behind something and tied up and gagged." Rey looks confused. "Unless he purposely had someone do it to him to cover?"

Kylo frowns. "And that makes no sense either. There were only two assassins. Both are dead, but they attacked at the same time—one of them ran me through about eight times and slit Qore's throat, and the other dealt with Kymber Ren. So when was there time to—"

"There was a third assassin," says Rey, and realization blooms across Kylo's mind. "There had to have been. And if there was a third man who wasn't caught—"

"Then he's still on board the _Annihilation_ ," finishes Kylo.

"He couldn't have escaped?"

"Highly unlikely. There was no unusual or new ship coming aboard in the past two weeks. I'll have the security footage checked, but for now, we can assume he's still on board." Kylo shuts his eyes. He wishes he could sleep for a week, but there's so much to do. "And I'm so sorry, Rey. I really am."

"Why?" she asks, slightly nervous.

He opens his eyes again. "I can't hold it off any longer. Hux is already breathing down my neck. You're going to need to be interrogated."

She swallows, her throat bobbing, and looks at him resolutely. "Fine."

"And," he says, trying very hard to sound suave, "you owe me a kiss. Don't think I forgot."

Rey wrinkles her nose up at him and for a terrible moment he thinks she might shout or protest or deny it, but she says, "Only if you _wash_ first, you smell like a happabore's backside," as a soft, rosy flush creeps up her throat and cheeks.

Warmth stirs somewhere in his belly, a trembly feeling he can't quite place.

"Deal," he says, and wishes he could hold her hand.


	12. like a tyrant wants a nation

"We need to talk," says Kira, marching into Kylo's quarters without so much as announcing herself. He was cleared to leave the medical bay five days ago, and had returned to his old habits: holing himself up in his chambers for hours on end and barely speaking to anyone.

"About what?" Kylo demands, slumped in his armchair with a glass of Corellian brandy. He's never liked the stuff, but the pleasant floaty feeling he gets after about three drinks serves to take away unpleasant thoughts, and he's having plenty of those lately.

"You _know_ about what," she says, ungrammatically and very clearly. "Your fixation on R—"

"Don't," he says sharply. "Don't say her name."

She frowns. "How much have you had to drink?"

He scowls and sinks deeper into his chair. "None of your business, that's how much."

Kira rolls her eyes. "The prisoner, then."

Kylo leans forward with exaggerated slowness and sets his crystal tumbler on the caf table. "So talk," he says.

"I'm not going to talk _at_ you. I'm going to talk _with_ you." Kira crosses the floor and sits on his sofa. "You're alive and well, you've been cleared, and I'm following through. Your…conduct has been off since she's been on board."

"If you're going to lecture me on my conduct, you can leave," he says harshly. "I'm not going to be lectured by my own knights on how to comport myself as Supreme Leader of the First Order—"

"We're not stupid," Kira snaps. "Even Kymber has about had it up to here with your feelings about this girl—do you have any idea how _annoying_ it is to have to listen to your internal conflict all day every day? I'm pretty sure Talla's getting a crush on her by osmosis because your _emotions_ won't stop seeping into everyone else's brains via Force-mind connection. _And_ I'm having your dreams. I'd prefer not to."

Kylo's fists clench. "That's not—you can't possibly—"

"I'm the karking _mind reader_ , Kylo. I'm _perceptive_. I can't help what I see. You dreamed last night that a giant Loth-cat was chasing you through a jungle, and R—the _prisoner_ was there. You caught her, and the Loth-cat stopped existing, and then you—"

"You can stop," Kylo says tightly.

"—pushed her down on the ground and—"

"I said _stop!"_ he barks, scowling at her.

Kira scowls right back. "I don't care for waking up with a raging erection when I _don't even own a penis_. That took almost five minutes to go away."

Kylo's cheeks are burning, two scarlet blotches high up on his cheekbones. "What," he grinds out through his teeth, "do you. Suggest. I. Do. Cold showers do nothing. Doing…things _manually_ does nothing. Believe me, I want to be rid of my feelings  _just_ as much as you all want me to."

"Well, Obri suggested an escort," Kira admits. "A while ago. I told her that wouldn't help. Am I correct?"

Kylo's mouth goes fairly dry. An _escort_. His memory flashes back to Snoke, and the admonition to repress his baser instincts, but in the event it became overwhelming, _because,_ says Snoke in his memory, almost distastefully, _you **are** a young man, and one prone to a fiery spirit_, well, then he was to seek an outlet that did not reflect badly on the First Order.

There had been women, and men too, coming to him in the first few months of his rule as Supreme Leader. They'd come from banking guilds and industry titans; from allied planets and First Oder supporting systems. He'd been entirely uninterested in what they had to offer. Partnerships, sexual entanglements—those were not his field of expertise. And eventually the mining clans and the banking guilds and the monarchs and the senators had all learned that the one way to gaining anything with the Supreme Leader of the First Order was power; power in the form of ships, technology. The other sort of offers stopped coming.

Perhaps he _could_ find an escort. About a meter and a half tall, with a lean body and freckles, hazel eyes, brown hair. It wouldn't be difficult: Corellia and Coruscant have services catering to the wealthiest of patrons, any body type or coloring or species anyone can possibly think of. Maybe they could even find him a girl with the right accent.

Maybe she'd let him call her _Rey_.

"No," he says with some effort, and rubs his temples. "No. It wouldn't help. You're right."

"Right. So." Kira shifts. "I assume there's a reason you haven't…approached her, and are resorting to taking your sexual frustration out on yourself instead."

"I'm taking it out on myself because I don't want to take it out on any of _you_ again," he says through his teeth. "Why do you think I'm avoiding training?"

"Master—" Kira rubs her eyes. "You have to deal with problems like this head on, not mask them over."

Kylo stares. "How am I supposed to _deal with it_ —"

"Talk to her!" Kira snaps. "Force, just _talk_ to her. I know she's going to have to be interrogated soon. She has feelings for you, you know. Complicated ones, but they're there."

"What?" Kylo jerks forward, looking as if someone's just punched him in the gut. "What do you mean, she has feelings—"

"She was terrified that you were going to die, Master. She wouldn't leave your side."

He shakes his head in denial. "She was just afraid because if I died, there's be nothing protecting her from Hux—"

"That's not true," Kira insists.

"As if she trusts any of _you_ to protect her," he spits.

Kira's face falls, hurt written there. "I—she does. She trusts Qore, at least. To some extent."

Kylo stands, swaying slightly, and paces for a moment, his hands clenched into fists at his side so tightly Kira can almost hear the leather creaking. "She promised me a kiss," he finally says, and his voice sounds exhausted, defeated. "If I lived. So here I am, alive. And I can't even bring myself to—to approach her. How am I supposed to _talk_ to her when every second I'm in her presence is tearing me apart?"

"Maker, you're melodramatic," says Kira bluntly.

"Shut up," he says, but the words have no real heat behind them. "How do I even—I've never kissed anyone in my _life_ —"

She swings her legs off the sofa. "It's not complicated. You literally just—" Her long hand comes up to her mouth and she kisses it with a flourish and a smack, waving her hand. "Like that. Lips go on the lips. Don't bite her and don't jam your tongue into her throat. You'll be fine."

Kylo looks aghast. " _Bite_ her?"

"I mean, some people are into…gentle lip-biting. Just—" Kira illustrates, biting her lower lip. "Like that. Don't scare her half to death, either. Keep your lips closed unless she opens hers. Follow her lead. Listen to her body language. It's not that hard."

"Not that hard?" he echoes, feeling extremely lost. "The only thing I ever learned to read body language for is whether or not someone's getting ready to _kill me_ , Kira."

"Force. You're hopeless. Come here." Kira stands and points at the floor, and he walks over unsteadily to stand in front of her with a suspicious look on his face. "Put your hands on my waist."

"Wh—"

"Just do it," she says, and he obeys, black-gloved hands resting on her waist. She puts both hands on his chest. "Right. Thumbs on the front, just there. Now, you can feel when I'm _tense_ —" she tightens her abdominal muscles slightly and leans back—"or when I'm relaxed—"she slackens her taut midsection and leans forward, more into him—"see?"

"Oh," he says. "So if she's uncomfortable or tense—"

"You let go and give her space." Kira peers up into his face. "You don't look good. Have you lost weight?"

"And if she's leaning into me?" Kylo asks, dodging the question.

"You…continue." Kira raises an eyebrow. "Don't tell me you need a sexual education refresher, too."

"I do _not_ ," he says, and releases her waist. "I just—I don't want to hurt her."

"She'll let you know if you do, I'm sure," Kira says, stepping back.

There's a brief silence. "Do you remember when I made you sick, that night at the Academy?" Kylo asks quietly, as if lost in thought.

"Of course I do," she says and a smile. "And everyone thought we'd sneaked out together."

"You killed Tym Brijer, didn't you?" The smile drops from Kira's face. "It's just that…most of that night is a blur I can't quite remember, but I thought I saw his body on the ground by your lightsaber."

"Is that important?" she asks tersely. _Her blade going through his throat: fire and blood and ash._

"No. No, I suppose not." Kylo picks the glass tumbler back up and downs the rest of his brandy, looking away. The silence this time is much longer.

"He was going to kill you," Kira manages to say. "You didn't even see him. He thought he was going to be some big hero and save the day. I—I knew you would never see him coming."

Kylo is very still for a moment. "No. I never did."

"He was a bully." Kira hates herself even as the words leave her mouth: who justifies murdering someone over being a _bully_? But he'd been more than just a bully, hadn't he—conniving, cruel, with a mean streak a meter long; and for a moment she feels fifteen again, as if no time has passed at all, as if only yesterday they'd been at the Academy, sparring in the yard together in the sunshine.

"Kira," Kylo says, and he sounds so tired, his words slurring. "I never thanked you—any of you. For any of it."

She doesn't need to ask what he means. "You'll never need to," she says. "We're with you, wherever your path goes. We'll be there."

He closes his eyes and sits down heavily in his chair. "You should go," he says, sounding exhausted. "It's late."

She nods. "Don't stay up all night drinking," she tells him, checking to make sure her blades are secure in her belt. "I'll send Talla in the morning to wake you up by singing the theme song to _Offworlder_ , so if you're hungover, it'll be your fault, and don't say we didn't warn you."

"Force, I hate that theme song," he grumbles, scrubbing at his face with his free hand.

Kira pauses, then reaches down and lets her hand rest on his shoulder. She squeezes gently. "Good night, Master," she says.

Kylo's eyes don’t meet hers, but he reaches up and covers her hand with his, in acknowledgement. "Good night, Kira Ren," he says.

 

* * *

 

 

The interrogation takes place in one of the nastier cell blocks, several days later. Hux looms in the door of the tiny cell, flanked by two troopers, watching greedily as Kylo locks Rey down in the restraints.

It's very similar to the holding table on Starkiller Base, Rey thinks. Same leg restraints, same cuffs on the arms. Even the same type of walls: black and shining and smooth and built with an optical illusion in mind to make the rooms appear narrower. Meant to intimidate, meant to cow into submission. The only thing different is that Kylo has on that stupid new mask, and she's barefoot, wearing her sweater and prison-issue pants. Kira Ren and Charal Ren stand by the door, masked and silent.

Kylo sweeps around to the front, and she sets her face into a hard mask. They have an audience, after all.

"Comfortable?" he asks.

"No," she says.

"Good. Let's begin." He gives her a moment to collect herself and prepare, and begins the slow, arduous process of probing into her mind. Rey grits her teeth and concentrates as Hux peers in, eyes alight with interest.

He comes up against her walls, and she hears him whisper, _Let me in. Hux is watching._ There's a flavor of some desire there—Rey catches it. He wants Hux to witness exactly what he can do to someone's mind if he wants to. He wants to show her off: _this is what I can do to those I suspect_ _of treason._

Rey swallows. It's the hardest thing she's ever done, but she lets him past her walls, and then he's inside her mind, a vast, oscillating presence. It feels bizarre and it almost burns, as if there's not enough room for her inside her own mind, and she lets out a choked little gasp. Tears roll down her cheeks.

 _Come into mine. You remember how._ He's trying so hard to be gentle, and she panics for a second, then remembers—and slips into his mind as he's still searching hers.

Kylo Ren stiffens slightly, but makes no other sign that she's linked to him. Rey sees what she saw the first time: fear of failure, but there's even more here than there was last time. He's sick of being Supreme Leader, he thinks he was never meant to rule, he's afraid he'll fail and the whole thing will come crashing down around him, and there's more, something darker and more desperate he doesn't want her to see—

Kylo can see everything. Rey's initial terror at being brought on board, her fear that she won't ever be a Jedi, her decision to abandon her training and start flying X-wings in Black Squadron under Dameron's tutelage— _Dameron,_ he thinks with disgust—how she'd done extremely well in all her test flights and been cleared to go out on the surprise attack on the _Annihilation_. She'd disobeyed direct orders to pull back and gotten herself almost killed trying to take out the frontal cannons, her right engine exploding into flames and her crash-land into Hangar A. Resolve. Acceptance.  _Might as well blow up a few ships while I'm still alive and have a working finger._ He probes back further and sees his mother's face, saying something about the target being the underbelly—further back, a strategy meeting Rey was allowed to attend as the resident Jedi, discussing money from political donors, their base on…Eadu?

"Stop!" Rey screams.

It's more than enough to satisfy Hux. Kylo breaks the connection and ignores Rey's pained sobbing (and oh, _that_ tears his heart out), turning to face the door. "The Resistance's base is on Eadu. I trust you'll have no trouble tracking it down."

Hux's face transforms with glee as he steps into the room. "Yes, Supreme Leader. We'll wipe it out. Shall I give orders to move the fleet?"

"That won't be necessary. Send two Star Destroyers. They'll be more than enough. I want you to personally oversee the destruction."

"No!" Rey screams, furious. "No, you can't—"

Hux marches over to her and sneers down at her, still locked in the chair. " _Can't_ , is it?"

"There are good people on that base—"

Hux doesn't even dignify that with a response. He just smacks her across the face, open-palmed, the resounding _crack_ of leather on flesh echoing through the room.

Kylo remains perfectly still exactly where he is. Charal makes a tiny motion with her hand, and Hux seemingly loses his balance and staggers to one side, catching himself against the wall. "Dizzy spell, must be—apologies, Supreme L—"

"I suggest," says Kylo, in a voice gone very flat and dark, "you get those Star Destroyers out to Eadu before it's too late."

"Yes, yes. Of course." Hux salutes and hurries out of the room, the clacking of his polished boots fading off into the distance.

As soon as he's out of earshot, Charal rips off her helmet, slams the door shut, and turns to check on Rey—but Kylo's already there at her side, helmet off, undoing the restraints and murmuring under his breath as he carefully examines her face, gloved hands black against her skin.

"Force, he's got it bad," mutters Charal to Kira.

Kira shrugs. "At least Hux is going to be off the ship. That'll count for something."

Kylo speaks, then, very softly and quietly. "Charal. Kira. You're dismissed. Wait outside the door."

They exchange glances and obey, letting the door shut behind him.

As soon as they're gone, he lifts Rey out of the chair easily.

"You don't need to—I'm—" she splutters, but he sets her down on the floor anyway, then backs away a foot or two, staying at a polite distance.

"You did very well," he says. "Very convincing. Hux bought it immediately."

"Yeah, well, you're lucky the Resistance was already moving bases from Eadu to Onderon a week ago." Rey sniffs and wipes her eyes. "So how much did you, um. What exactly did you see in here?"  She points to her head.

"Oh," Kylo says. "I started with you being brought on board and worked my way back. I didn't—" he hesitates, eyes flickering across her face. "I didn't want to look at anything you might have—thought, or felt—that you wouldn't want me to know about. Personal things. I didn't want you to feel…violated."

"You were angry when you saw Poe had taught me how to fly an X-wing," she says. "Why?"

 _Because he's a trigger-happy idiot. Because he gets people killed. Because I saw how he smiled at you and how you liked it._ "You deserve a better teacher than him," he says instead.

"You're _jealous_ ," Rey accuses, standing up. Her legs are still slightly wobbly, so she leans on the chair.

"I am _not_ —"

"Yes, you are! What did you _think_ I'd do after going back? Sit on my arse all day reading old books?" She looks outraged. "Not all of us had the time to sit around and daydream about—"

"Don't," he snaps, brittle as a stick of ice; because if she says it, if she says it, he's going to shatter into a thousand pieces and never—

"— _sex_ —"

In one swift movement, Kylo has got her by the collar and pushed her up against the wall, his face inches from hers. " _Don't_ ," he begs, and he knows his hands are shaking, and Rey's just looking up at him with shocked eyes, huge and hazel. He can see his own reflection in the pupils: a distorted face, long and ugly; why did he ever think for a moment she'd understand? "The least—" He swallows, his mouth trembling, and forces the rest out through his teeth. "I know you can't always control your own powers. I can't prevent you from seeing anything. The _least_ you can do is allow me some dignity. Don't fling something you know I didn't want you to see into my face."

Rey's mouth is slightly open, her lips parted, and she's looking up at him with the strangest expression on her face— _guilt_? "I'm sorry," she whispers.  

Kylo hadn't allowed himself to even peek at any of her thoughts regarding him: not once, even though he'd been incredibly tempted, because he knew beyond all hope he would find only loathing. And Rey had plucked his feelings directly from his heart and dangled them in his face to mock him. "Why would you—" He fights tears, welling up from somewhere deep in his throat, threatening to spill down his face. "Why are you so _cruel_?"

Memories of Snoke, haunting him in the days following Starkiller: _you're pathetic, your compassion for this scavenger will be your downfall, you're nothing but a boy with a wretched obsession for a girl who can barely hold a lightsaber._ He couldn't hide his feelings from Snoke, and he can't hide them from Rey: a failure twice over. He might as well be naked, turned inside out, for her to pore over his beating heart at her leisure. And he'd let her do it. Kylo knows that as surely as he knows he is a monster.

"Ben," Rey says, shaking her head, her own voice trembling. She puts her hands over his. Her little fingers, rough and calloused, curl over the backs of his hands, and he thinks, _she's so small_ , before she's standing on her toes and her mouth—

Her mouth is on _his_ mouth and—

Oh. _Oh._

Kylo has no earthly idea what to do with his hands. He tightens them instinctively at the collar of her shirt, but she makes a noise in her throat like it hurts her, so he lets go. Rey steps back quickly, breaking the kiss and knocking the back of her head into the wall.

"Ow!" she yelps, and cups the back of her head.

Kylo quickly pulls her away from the wall by the elbows and releases her the instant she steps forward. "I, I, are you all right—"

"Yes, I just—give me a moment, ooh—" Her face crinkles in pain, and she rubs the back of her head quickly, making her hair stand up on end in a tousled mess. "That's better. Sorry."

"Did I startle you?" Kylo's anxious, his hands twitching. _Kira didn't tell me what to do with my hands—she didn't say—_

"No, I just—I thought you were letting go because you didn't—" Rey's crimson to the ears.

"No, I thought I was hurting you—"

"If you hurt me," Rey says definitively, "I'll bloody well let you know."

"Ah," says Kylo. "So you—that weird noise…was a good noise. That wasn't—you were all right."

"Weird noise?" she demands, hands on her hips. "I make perfectly _reasonable_ noises, I'll have you know. Haven't you ever—"

"No," he says sharply, "And I'd prefer it if we didn't talk about my—"

"We wouldn't have to talk about anything if you'd get your mouth back over here," Rey says boldly.

Kylo blinks, frozen in place for a moment. _She wants me to kiss her? She wants me to kiss her. She wants me to kiss her!_ "Oh," he says, very stupidly, and takes a step forward, then bends down slightly, bringing his face level with hers.

Rey inhales slightly, and her eyes flicker up to meet his, slightly cross-eyed from being so close.

He presses his lips to hers. He means to only give her a quick kiss, something that won't be complicated or make his whole body feel like it's on fire, but her mouth opens beneath his without any warning and it's like a tractor beam pulling him in. Kylo pushes forward, chasing her mouth with his. One hand finds her back and slips up the outside of her knit sweater, pulling her in close, and she's got her arms under his, around his back—sort of cupped up around his shoulders, and she's actually _kissing him back_ , and the sensation is overwhelming. Rey's body is pressed against his, and she's firm and soft and warm. Her lips are soft and smooth and her tongue traces his bottom lip clumsily, and everything is—

Kylo has her on the floor before his brain catches up with his body, and quickly breaks the kiss to catch his breath. Rey's splayed out under him, flat on her back, panting slightly and looking up at him, her hair spread out around her head, glossy brown on the black floor. He's so hard he can barely stand it.

"Rey," he whispers, and shuts his eyes. He wants her like he's never wanted anything in his life. He wants her like a tyrant wants a nation. To conquer and tear apart and _own_.

_You have to decide what you want more, then. The Order, or the girl._

Kylo swallows hard, desperately trying to control his thoughts. _She's right here. I could do anything I want. Anything. I could have her on the floor right now and nobody would breathe a word against it. I'm the Supreme Leader. I can do whatever I please. I'm…_

"Ben?"

He tears himself up and away from her, and it hurts worse than being shot; it's like driving a blade into his father's heart all over again. "I'm—I'm sorry," he manages. "I didn't mean to—" He indicates her with a hand as she sits up, looking baffled. "Do that," he finishes lamely.

"Oh," says Rey, and gathers herself together, knees tucked beneath her body. She's looking everywhere but at him; the floor, the walls, the chair. "You, ah. You're very strong." Her cheeks are pale.

Great. He's frightened her. Shame fills him all at once. Of course she'd kissed him: her dignity wouldn't let her renege on a deal. _This was a fulfillment of a promise, not an expression of passion, you idiot._ "I didn't mean to frighten you," he says.

"You…didn't, exactly," Rey says, still not looking at him. "I mean. You partly did. But only because you're—ah, you know. Big. Bigger than me, I mean. And also, um, the dictator of the First Order, a totalitarian regime which I'm supposed to, you know. Be fighting."

Kylo shakes his head. "I'm not—" he cuts himself short in frustration. "I shouldn't have loaned you that damn book."

"Too late. It's very interesting. Especially the bit in Chapter 15 about the qualities of sentient beings and how no one is all evil or all good." Rey gives him a sideways glance and pulls the shoulder of her shirt back up to cover her skin. "I'd say you're about seventy-thirty, evil to good."

"Seventy-thirty," he echoes. "Really."

"Yup." She reaches out and lets her finger hover, pointing at his breastbone. "Everything from here up is good, everything below it is just terrible."

Kylo fights a ghost of a smile in spite of himself. "I'm not sure that's quite how it works."

She grins. "That's definitely how it works. You're part evil and part good and the decisions you make affect the, you know, grand percentage—"

"I asked you to make a decision once. Do you remember?" His eyes bore into hers, silently pleading.

"Yes," she says simply, her smile fading. "You asked me to let the past die, to join you. And as I seem to remember, you made your choice, too."

"No," he admits. "You're right. But someone else might make another choice, later in their life, to make them—better. Would you—would you accept that choice?"

"I might," says Rey, after a moment that seems to last a millennia.

Kylo wants to kiss her again, to get on his knees and thank her. Instead he gets to his feet and extends a hand. "Then come," he tells her. "We have work to do."

 

* * *

 

"Master, you're lucky there was no one in the corridor," says Charal casually as they wait for the lift.

"Why's that?" Kylo asks.

"Because the walls aren't soundproofed in Block D," Kira says, as if she's discussing the weather.

Rey turns a lovely shade of bright red and both the Knights go into a fit of giggles as Kylo tries to come up with something to say.

"Congratulations on first base," says Charal, and even behind the mask they can hear her grin.

"Shut up, Charal," says Kylo through his teeth.

"Yes, Supreme Leader," she says, and nudges Rey in the elbow to give her a thumbs-up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're right about at the halfway point! Please enjoy TWO chapter updates today, and Happy New Year!


	13. nothing left to lose

Eadu is an Outer Rim planet of storms and mountains. Slate-blue from space, covered by clouds and crackling with lightning, it boasts a population of only 2.5 million beings, most of them simple nerf herders. It has no major cosmopolitan cities, or even cultural centers. In the days of the Empire, it had been the site of several laboratories and testing facilities for various chemicals, but those are long abandoned and gone, leaving only the eternal rains, the craggy spires of black stone, and the canyons below.

General Armitage Hux looks out over Eadu from the bridge of the _Finalizer II_ and thinks, _what a bloody waste of time._

Initial scans of the planet had proved fruitless due to the heavy cloud cover, which is likely why the Resistance chose the planet as a base. He's sent down several parties to investigate, but so far none of them have reported back. He doesn't care to draw this out for much longer, either.

Once his man on the _Annihilation_ finally does his job, he can return to the Inner Rim to take over as Supreme Leader.

Hux sips his bitter tarine tea from his personal insulated mug and considers the events of the past three weeks. First the arrival of the Knights, then the Resistance attack, then the prisoner. All extremely interesting developments, and none to be taken lightly.

He's hated those Knights of Ren since they were brought on board: black-clad, horrifying religious warriors harking back to some nebulous past of superstition and ignorance. They have no business in his First Order, or indeed in the general future he envisions at all.

Even an idiot could see that they had personal connections to Kylo Ren's mysterious past. They don't publicly speak to anyone but each other and to him unless absolutely necessary. They're unfailingly loyal, two of them at his side at all times. Discovering that they were all women was…unexpected, but opened the door to angles—to consider, to play. He wouldn't have been shocked to discover at least one or two of them had some sort of sexual entanglement with the Supreme Leader: perhaps they were something like a harem of his, and wouldn't _that_ be a delicious little thing to wave under someone's nose?

Which…Hux chews at the inside of his mouth. His hopes at discovering some juicy weakness of Ren's had been dashed mostly when some of his female subordinates had begun reporting for work in states unbecoming to the conduct of officers. He recalls yanking one captain's collar open and seeing the deep red marks scattered down her throat, all but one hidden by the uniform, and the flush on her cheeks that told him all he needed to know.

 _"Which one_?" he'd snarled.

_"With all due respect, General, my personal affairs are none of your con—"_

He'd backhanded her across the mouth, and she had whispered " _Obri Ren"_ like a prayer through her split lip.

Only Phasma's input, cool and collected, had kept him from demoting her on the spot. " _It's not affecting her work, General_. _Leave her be."_

So he had let her go, and slowly, woman by woman, from lieutenant to major, ferreted out names: Obri, Talla, Qore, Charal. He couldn't put names to faces—that was a game he would leave to someone else—but the knowledge, that was something, wasn't it? A card to play?

And then that X-wing pilot had crash-landed in the bloody hangar and the minute she'd been pulled out, Ren had almost had a stroke. Hux, on a hunch, had set four officers working day and night to go over all the old security footage from the _Supremacy_. Most of the records had been destroyed or damaged, but some survived. Enough to where Hux was very nearly sure of the girl's identity: the young woman who had come aboard the _Supremacy_ and killed Snoke.

At first he had thought Kylo's insistence on not torturing the girl within an inch of her life was based on some sort of psychological tactic. Keep the prisoner guessing, take them off guard. But as time dragged on, he began to think that wasn't the case, especially after Ren had reacted as he had when Hux had politely suggested that perhaps they should get a bloody move on with interrogating their _only_ Resistance link. Hux is still smarting from that one.

Hence, the investigation to find the girl's identity.

Hence, his discovery.

So, conclusion. Kylo Ren: traitor to the Order and harboring a known enemy. Next step, remove the traitor, preferably while he's conveniently on the other side of the Expansion Region. The Knights can be dealt with later: he has several ideas about what to do with them and the girl once Ren is out of the way. Striking her across the face had been intensely therapeutic, as had the long-awaited interrogation. He's let his mind wander quite a bit, mulling over possibilities: the Knights are likely far too seasoned to make decent slaves, but the girl might be… _persuaded_ into being kept as a sort of pet, in the event the Resistance doesn't jump over themselves to placate him in exchange for the safe return of their religious mascot—which, come to think of it, would be delightful.

He's just decided Arkanis would be an appropriate place to hold his coronation and he's in the middle of thinking about the robes he's going to have commissioned for the occasion when the alarms on the bridge go off and five squadrons of X-wings peel out of Eadu's pea-soup atmosphere, firing on the _Finalizer II._

Armitage Hux just has time to consider that he might have, after all, fallen into a trap. "Take those fighters out!" he screams, pointing.

A black and orange T-70 is dancing in and out, circling around his TIEs. Hux watches murderously as the single fighter dive-bombs the other Star Destroyer, the _Conquest_ , directly in the main reactor, and the whole thing goes up in a destructive fireball, pitching the nose into gravity's well. Just like that, he's lost half his bloody fleet.

"Hail the _Annihilation_ ," Hux orders, turning on his heel. "We need reinforcements _now._ "

He'll deal with the Ren issue later. There are more pressing matters at hand.

Like not being killed, for starters.

 

* * *

 

"I'm just saying," Rey's insisting, pacing back and forth as Qore keys open the door to her cell and walks in, "a democratic government is the best solution, even if it's inefficient. People need input in their own government, and a good standard of living on _all_ planets is—"

"Qore Ren," says Kylo, standing up quickly from his place on the sofa. "How—" his eyes flicker over her throat, a line of bio-tape covering the gash there, and back up to her face, "how are you?"

Qore smiles and answers in Galactic Basic Signing, her fingers moving like precise little puppets: _Fine, sore. Call on bridge for you. Alert. Hux._

"Ah," says Kylo, and glances at Rey. "We'll have to continue this conversation later."

"What's wrong?" Rey looks confused, and Qore realizes the girl doesn't know GBS, and might not even know how to spell out names.

"There's an alert on the bridge and I've been called to oversee. Qore, will you stay here?" Kylo snatches his cloak up from the back of the sofa. "It shouldn't take very long."

Qore nods, fingers dancing again. _Of course._

"Good." Kylo hurries out, with one last quick glance back at Rey.

Rey sits awkwardly on her sofa, not quite knowing how to speak to Qore—or indeed, how to understand the bird-quick flutter of her fingers. "You all know how to—talk with your hands?" she offers.

Qore smiles and raises her fist in a knocking motion, echoing the up-and-down movement with her nodding head, and mouths, _Yes._

Rey copies the movement carefully. "Yes," she says, and commits it to memory. "Where did you learn?"

Qore frowns, thinking, and makes several slow, careful signs with her fingers, touching her hands and her chin and her palm, while mouthing the words they mean for Rey's benefit. _Little. Mother. Deaf. I teach Knights. Good for quiet missions._

"Deaf?" Rey's surprised. "Were you from the Outer Rim?"

Qore shakes her head. _No. Corellia. Why?_

Rey looks baffled. "I thought…I thought city-worlds had med-centers that fixed…things like that."

Qore shakes her head again. _No. She chose to be deaf. Deaf is…_ she hesitates, looking for the right word. _Different, special. Not a disease. You and I have the Force. Remove it and we are not who we are. Yes?_

"Oh. I never thought about that." Rey's slightly abashed. "And…you taught Kylo to understand it?"

 _Yes. Fast learner. Stubborn._ Qore smiles. _Like you._

"He's not like me," she protests.

 _Oh, yes._ Qore mimes flinging something and puffs out her cheeks in a caricature of anger. _Pyramid chess. Sore loser._

Rey giggles at the mental image of Kylo stomping around after losing to Qore. "It's a complicated game!"

 _Not if you know the rules. Like handspeaking._ Qore's face crinkles in a smile and indicates the board on the shelf. _Want to learn again?_

Rey considers, and raises her right fist, making a knocking motion. _Yes._

Qore smiles, the dark gap between her front teeth showing, and heads for the board.

 

* * *

 

"What's the situation?" Kylo asks calmly.

"My lord, General Hux has hailed us from the Eadu system. They're sustaining heavy fire from a Resistance attack, and request reinforcements."

Kylo can't really do anything except say, "Prepare to jump the fleet to the Eadu system. Shields up. Be ready to launch a counterattack on arrival."

"Yes, sir." The officer scuttles away, and Kylo watches as the stars streak into blue and white smears outside the bridge viewport. There's a small jerk, a shuddering tug throughout the ship, and they're hurtling through hyperspace.

Qore's mind touches onto his, a little nudge in the Force. _Where are we going?_

He winces internally. _Did Rey feel the jump?_

 _Of course she did. What's our destination?_ Qore sounds cross.

Kylo sighs. _Eadu. I had no choice. Hux's fleet is under attack by Resistance forces—_

Qore goes silent, and he can sense she's cutting him off, probably just so he doesn't feel how furious Rey probably is at that revelation. He's grateful for the shield. He's even more grateful he's twenty floors away and on the other side of the _Annihilation._

"Estimated time to Eadu about ten minutes," one of the navigators calls out.

"More than enough time to get the fighters ready," Kylo says. "All hands at stations."

While the sirens go off, alerting all men to their posts, he tries very hard not to think about the fact that in about ten minutes, his army is probably going to kill a lot of Rey's friends. Something is burning in his chest: something hot and visceral, like a star going supernova, and he realizes it's grief.

Grief because he's already made his choice, he just hadn't realized it yet.

Kylo storms off the bridge, turning to Charal and Kymber. "You two stay put. I have something I have to do before we reach Eadu."

"Yes, Master," they echo, and remain where they are, masked and prepared for anything.

 

* * *

 

Kylo palms the door to Rey's quarters open.

Qore can't shout a warning. Rey flies at him in a rage and bowls him over, knocking him into the hallway on his back with her hands around his throat. "You _liar!_ " she screams.

 _Qore, don't,_ he orders the Knight through the Force, and Qore hesitates, staff already in hand, amber-gold eyes flickering from him to Rey to the hallway. _I'll handle this. Go to Talla and Charal and post them on the bridge. Tell Kira and Obri the word is Black Sun. They'll know what to do._

 _Yes, my lord,_ she responds, and backs away, then hurries down the hallway.

Rey is still bearing down on him, trying with all her might to throttle him to death: absolute fury written in every line of her face. "You lying, murderous _snake_ —"

As much as he would love to sit here, they only have ten minutes, and he reaches out with the Force, forcing her hands to release and holding her back. "Feel better?" he asks acerbically, rubbing his neck.

"Kark you," she spits, struggling.

"We have a very short period of time during which you'll be able to feasibly escape in the mayhem, which, no doubt, will start right as we come out of lightspeed," Kylo says. "I can get you down to the hangar. I trust you know how to steal a ship. I'd be very disappointed if you didn't."

Shock and realization break over her face. "What? You're—you're breaking me out?"

Kylo pulls her to her feet and releases her Force-bonds. "I know there's a coat in that closet. Go get it and pull the hood over your face. I'll cloak you—redirect the attention of anyone we come across to something else. If they see you, they'll vaguely think you're a Knight. The Force does come in handy sometimes."

Rey stares at him for a moment with her mouth open. "Aren't you going to ask me what the bloody hell I think of this plan?"

"We don't have the time to sit here and argue. Do you want to get out of here or not?"

She opens her mouth, closes it again, and glares at him. "I—yes, then."

Even though he'd _known_ she was going to jump at the chance to get as far away from him as possible, a very small part of him crumples in disappointment, and that in turn brings on a wave of self-loathing: _you idiot, of course she'd get off this ship as fast as she could, did you really think she'd stay? For what, for **you**?_ "Good," he says through his teeth. "Get your coat."

 

* * *

 

She trots to keep up with his long strides, her hood pulled over her head. They pass running troopers in formation, pilots racing to their TIE fighters, and officers. None of them notice Rey in the slightest.

Kylo's just made it to the juncture of the main lower hallways when an officer races up. "Supreme Leader!" he gasps. "From bridge—message from General Hux. Resistance is jumping to Onderon. Should we follow?"

Rey's wave of total panic threatens to choke Kylo. "It may be a trap," he says calmly.

"That's what General Yiu said, sir." Kylo considers for a moment. Yiu is a strategy mastermind, and usually the one who's the most tolerant when Kylo loses focus in meetings.

"If that's what Yiu says, then we'll stay our course and arrive at Eadu as planned. We'll reconvene with whatever's left of Hux's fleet there and make our next step."

"Yes, sir," says the officer, and salutes before racing back to the lift.

As soon as he's out of sight, Rey shoves a door marked UTILITIES open and drags Kylo inside by the arm, slamming it shut behind her. Two glow-lamps automatically come on, activated by movement, and her face is white as chalk in the light as she rips her hood off. "Please," she gasps, and she's so afraid, so afraid for her friends: it curls around her like fog.

"Rey, I—"

"I'm begging you," she gasps brokenly. "Don't do this, Ben. Don't follow them to Onderon. _Please._ "

"Rey—"

"I'll do anything you want," Rey babbles, blocking the door. There are tears streaming down her face, shining in the dim light. "I'll—I'll let the Knights chase me around with knives, or, or—"

That idea's absolutely ridiculous. "What? No—"

"I'll go to bed with you," she offers, and he freezes in place. "Anything. Please. Just don't go to Onderon. They have barely any defenses, just a giant blast-proof door, and—and I _said_ it was a dumb idea and I got outvoted and if you go it's going to be all my _fault_ —"

Kylo grips her by the upper arms, unable to stop himself. "No. _No_ , Rey. None of this is your fault."

She's crying now, really crying. "If I hadn't been so s-stupid and crashed the s-ship, t-t-trying to be a hero—"

Kylo doesn't know what to do, so he just…pulls her into his arms, and holds her there, solid against his chest. She buries her face in his shoulder and sobs, and he doesn't care that he's going to have teary snot all over his cloak, because her body is trembling against his, and he's _holding_ her. A miracle. A small miracle, but a miracle nonetheless. "Outvoted, huh? I told you democracy was useless and inefficient," he whispers, and she snorts in spite of herself. "Rey," he says softly, trying to be calming. "If I let you go, you can go to Onderon and warn them."

"We won't have enough time to evacuate the planet," she manages, turning her tear-stained face up. "Can't you just—call truce? Or something?"

Kylo sighs. "I'm the leader of a massive military force, not a child playing tag. I can't just _call truce._ It's more complicated than that."

"I'm not going back to the Resistance without you," Rey says firmly, her lip quivering. "I can't."

Force, no. "Rey—"

"Ben. Please. You promised—remember, you said you'd make a different choice, later. It's later. _Please._ " Rey's crying again, silently this time, tears tracking down her cheeks. "Please. Come with me."

Kylo stares at her. "Don't be ridiculous, we're in the middle of a massive— _military maneuver,_ Rey, I can't drop everything and abandon the Knights at a time like this, and if I disappeared, _Hux_ would take over and that is not something the Resistance is prepared to deal with, do you understand me?"

"If you won't come with me, I'm not going," she insists. "I'm not going to go back without you. I'll go back with you or not at all."

They stand there looking at each other, and Kylo finally sets his jaw, the muscles beneath his skin standing out in the light. He doesn't know if he's angrier at her for flinging his plan to the wind, or at himself for not being grateful to everything that moves for the fact that she's refusing to leave unless he's with her. "Fine," he spits. "I'll take you back to your cell."

"Fine," she whispers, wiping her face.

"And, Rey?" he adds, hand on the door.

"What?"

His voice is low and even, dark and final. "Don't ever try to use getting into my bed as a bargaining chip again."

Humiliation threatens to drown Rey. "I—I won't."

Kylo doesn't acknowledge her response. "We have five minutes. Get your hood back on. Let's go."


	14. the force of gravity

The fleet comes out of hyperspace, popping into existence above the dark gray-blue curve of Eadu below them.  

In front of them, the shattered wreck of the _Conquest_ is being slowly, slowly pulled into the gravity well, and the crippled remains of the _Finalizer II_ are drifting powerless in front of them.

Kylo glares out the window. Even an idiot could see it was pointless to attempt repairs. "Send search and rescue. Get everyone off that ship immediately and get them on board. Is the medical bay prepared?"

"Yes, sir," says the medical chief of staff, standing in his light blue coat at the end of the bridge with assembled other officers.

Kylo nods. He remembers the man—Jorus Fenn—from his own time spent in the medical bay. "Good. You're dismissed, Fenn. Commander Vanis?"

One by one, he portions off work to each commander, each department leader, for maximum efficiency. He's good at compartmentalizing, at knowing what needs to be done and ensuring it _gets_ done, and he throws himself into it headlong to distract himself from what he'd left in Block B.

Rey had been silent the whole way back to her room, and when he had left her, she'd turned as if to say something—but the door had shut and he had stared at it for a moment. He'd decided he didn't have time for another heart-to-heart, and made his way back to the lifts.

Now he's doing his best to doggedly ignore thoughts of her as he moves from navigation to radar, orders the techs to keep an eye out for any blips because it might be the Resistance coming back and they can't be too careful.

 _I'll go to bed with you,_ she'd said desperately, and he'd known the instant the words had left her mouth that he would never, ever take her into his bed unwillingly as an exchange for anything in the galaxy. That hadn't stopped his traitorous mind from racing through several filthy scenes from his imagination in the moments during the rest of her plea, before he'd opened his mouth and said _no_ : taking her in the utilities closet right there against the wall, her legs wrapped around his waist; dragging her into his chambers, shoving her lean thighs apart and driving himself into—

"Supreme Leader?"

Kylo inwardly curses. It's a good thing he's switched to wearing robes mostly all the time now, because at the moment he's like duracrete in his trousers, tightly and uncomfortably trapped against one leg. "General Yiu," he says.

"General Hux has been located and is en route back to the _Annihilation._ " General Yiu is an older man with a mustache he probably combs every morning and the patience of a saint. "I believe under the circumstances it would be wise if the fleet remained here for a while—just until all the men have been rescued and are ready to make the jump to Onderon."

"You don't think they'll return?" Kylo clasps his hands in front of him as he looks out the viewport. "It could be a trap."

"I doubt they would spread themselves so thinly between Onderon and Eadu," Yiu tells him. "Their numbers are not large, even after a year of recruitment, as our intelligence tells us."

"Yes. I got as much out of the pilot," says Kylo. "Very well. Alert the fleet we are to remain here until further notice."

"Yes, my lord," says General Yiu, and salutes before stepping briskly off to the side to have a word with the communications officer.

Kylo takes a few deep breaths, staring out the viewport, and thinks about smashing Hux's face in with a fist. _Don't forget,_ he tells himself. _There's still an assassin on the loose somewhere_. His erection sufficiently wilted with that thought, he turns and makes his way back down the catwalk, robes billowing behind him as he stalks toward the hangar, flanked by Talla and Charal Ren.

He has work to do.

 

* * *

 

Rey rolls over onto her back and stares at the ceiling.

She's cried until she couldn't cry anymore, and now she's just exhausted. She should sleep, but she can't bring herself to close her eyes or relax.

The ship's massive guns haven't fired at all, which is a good thing. Rey's pretty sure they got to Eadu too late to get into a firefight, anyway, but the thought that they're going to go to Onderon next and blow the Resistance to smithereens is just too much. She's been waiting on edge for the little tug that signifies the massive ship going to lightspeed, but it hasn't come yet.

Maybe Ben will turn before that. Maybe he'll make the right choice this time—she definitely made a mistake by asking him to come with her in the closet. Absolutely the wrong timing and the wrong place, but she'd been desperate, and he hadn't even seemed to care. The one thing that _had_ gotten a reaction out of him was her offer to sleep with him, and he'd reacted…extremely negatively.

 _It was a cheap move and you know it_ , Rey tells herself viciously. Not that she would have disliked the idea. She does like the idea—which frightens her a little, because she shouldn't. Or, at least, she's pretty sure she shouldn't. They've gotten into life-or-death fights twice, both of which have ended with him asking her to join his side and her kicking his ass, knocking him out, and getting _away._

She doesn't want another fight to end like that. She doesn't even want another fight: she wants him to just come with her and come back to where he belongs. With Leia. With people who care about him. And, okay, maybe that means just Leia and herself, but still.

And, all right. Maybe there's a part of her—no, there _is_ a part of her, a fairly big one, too—that wants desperately to pull him out of the First Order, to salvage whatever's left of Ben Solo: to shake him by the shoulders and shout that she _understands_ how dark and lonely and horrible it is when you think your family's _left_ you or hates you and everything is hopeless—

A tear leaks out of Rey's eye and tracks down to her ear, cold and wet. She sniffs and rolls over. Her thoughts go to the night on Ahch-To, his bare chest—

 _Stop that!_ Her hand claps over her mouth and she squeezes her eyes shut, but it's too late: she's envisioning what he might look like naked. She's seen a fair few naked men in her life, mostly bathing in the scummy ponds at Niima Outpost, so she cobbles together bits and pieces and draws up an imaginary picture.

He'll be solidly built, of course: that's clear from his arms and chest and she knows he's strong enough to lift her like she's nothing. Deeply incised back muscles; probably solid, powerful thighs. She knows men generally have body hair—but he hadn't seemed to have much when she'd seen him without a shirt, just a wide expanse of pale skin, marked with scars and dotted with the odd mole. So, not much body hair, except under his arms and maybe a line below his navel. It'll be black, like the hair on his head, but coarse, like her own. Rey hovers indecisively on whether or not he has dark or light hair on his legs, and settles on dark.

She finds herself wondering what…things… look like…below the belt.

Heat flushes her face at the thought, and she rolls off the bed, sitting on the floor, and draws her knees up to her chest, hands on her face. "Stop it," she says aloud to herself. "You're being ridiculous. Who _does_ this?"

Well. Ben does. Did. Probably still does. She'd seen it in his mind, when she'd been rooting around looking for anything she could like a bantha in a crystal shop: he imagines _her_ without her clothes all the time, so fair's fair, really.

Except, try as she might, Rey can't for the life of her decide what anything might look like _down there_ , and gives up quickly, scarlet to the ears. It's not like she'll ever get the chance to figure it out, anyway. He won't let himself touch her. The kiss—

Rey touches her fingertips to her lips automatically at the memory. The kiss had only been an exchange, and nothing more, hadn't it? She'd promised him a kiss, and she never went back on a promise; and besides that, she hadn't meant to hurt his feelings. She'd felt horribly guilty when he'd revealed that he hadn't delved into her personal thoughts, only her memories: and she'd taken whatever she could find. _I'm a real bantha's ass_ , she thinks to herself despondently. _He was trying to be gentle, and I—I karked it up._

She can't recall much about the initial kiss she gave him, other than the fact that she'd whacked her head into the wall, but the second…his lips had been… _soft,_ and searching, and then she'd opened her mouth like an idiot, inviting him in, and he'd knocked her over with eagerness, mouth on hers all the way down, until she'd been on the floor and he'd been on top of her, his body huge and warm and solid.

And then…he hadn't. He'd wrenched himself off her like she'd turned into a bed of nettles or something and said he was sorry for knocking her to the floor as if he expected her to run away screaming, and she'd known immediately why: she'd seen his mind, and he's hell-bent on self-flagellation until some nebulous day of atonement comes and he can finally look at himself without any loathing.

Moron.

Rey sighs and yanks a blanket down from the bed, stretching out on the floor. She curls on her side and daydreams to herself about his body, powerful and looming over her. Of course it's impossible, but she pretends he'll come in one night when she's almost asleep and get into bed with her, and curl around her close so she stays warm in the freezing recycled air. Maybe he'll stroke her hair back and kiss her on the cheek, and whisper that she'll never be alone again.

Slowly, Rey drifts off into a fitful sleep.

 

* * *

 

"General," says Kylo, looking down impassively at Hux.

Hux looks up from the cot he's sitting on, an orderly dabbing a cut on his head with bacta, and there's a flash of fear in his eyes that neither Kylo nor his two Knights miss. "Ah—Supreme Leader," he says, swallowing.

The orderly looks from him to Kylo, and pales. Charal gestures. "You may go," she says.

He doesn't wait around to be told again, and moves on to the next cot.

The hangar has been converted into a sort of field hospital. Under Kylo's directions, half of it's been set up for triage, and the other half is being used to handle the dead they've been able to snag out of space. Covered in canvas bags labeled with their identitag information, they stack up alongside the wall like so much cordwood.

Charal shivers to herself. Death in space is not something she likes to consider. Poor souls.

Kylo is addressing Hux, though, so she turns to listen with Talla. "So. You arrived at Eadu with two Star Destroyers, and were set upon by…five squadrons of X-wings from the surface. That you didn't see coming because of… _clouds._ " The disdain in Kylo's voice is unmistakable.

Hux flushes an ugly pink color. "Yes, Supreme Leader."

"And in the ensuing attack, you lost half your TIE fighters and an entire Star Destroyer, in addition to four search parties you sent down to the planet's surface. Correct?"

"Yes, Supreme Leader." Hux looks like he's barely holding onto his composure, and both Talla and Charal can feel his shock: since when did Kylo Ren concern himself personally with matters of leadership?

"Disappointing," says Kylo after a moment, and Hux turns white as a sheet. "You're demoted. You'll be reporting to General Yiu starting now, Colonel Hux."

Hux goes almost purple with fury, and Talla absently wonders how many colors a human's face can actually turn. He swallows, and manages to spit out, "Yes… Supreme… _Leader_ ," before Kylo turns on his heel and marches off toward the other wounded men.

"Disgusting little man, isn't he?" murmurs Charal to Talla. She chuckles, but it dies as they approach a TIE pilot with severe spaceburn and blood caking his body from his head to his neck. He looks terrified of Kylo and the two Knights, but relaxes slightly as Kylo crouches in front of him. "Supreme Leader," he says reverently, his one good eye that isn't crusted shut with blood flickering up at him. The white of the eye is full of blood.

"Pilot," says Kylo, not unkindly. "What's your name?"

"Cal Ceryss," he says, and looks down. "I lost my squadron. I'm sorry, sir."

Kylo hesitates, then puts a gloved hand on the man's shoulder. "Don't be. You flew well, and you lived. That's no small thing."

Cal gapes at him, then nods dumbly as Kylo moves on to the next pilot.

 _What is he **doing**_ **?** Talla asks Charal in astonishment.

 _He's being a good leader,_ Charal says, and she's almost…proud of him.

The next pilot is a woman with a sharp, hooked nose and high cheekbones, looking determinedly away from the splint being put on her right arm by one of the ever-present orderlies. Her gaze finds Kylo, and she looks wary as he crouches to bring himself down to eye level. "M'lord," she says, and uses her left hand to pull some hair out of her mouth: it's escaped her military-standard bun and trails across her face like black ink, stuck to her olive skin with sweat.

"Broken arm?" Kylo glances at the orderly, who nods.

The woman shuts her eyes in pain. "Snapped it like synthplast _and_ dislocated it to boot when I crashed. Hit the hangar on the _Finalizer_ at five hundred klicks in my TIE and I was still holding onto the yoke." She winces, her thin mouth pressed together in pain.

"I'm sorry," he says, not having any idea what to say, but she seems to see his awkwardness and manages a smile.

"'S all right. You're doing fine, if you don't mind me saying so. Just go to everyone you can and say hello, meet the grunts face to face. We've never met a Supreme Leader before."

Kylo nods very seriously. "I will. What's your name?"

"Terris. Terris Roye."

"Thank you, Terris Roye."

Her bone slips into place with a dreadful wet noise, and she shudders and shuts her eyes as the orderly goes for the bone-knitter. "You better go, sir: I think I'm going to be sick," she manages.

"There's a duraplast bucket—" the orderly begins, and looks around helplessly.

Kylo sees one on a cart a few yards away and seizes it with the Force, the thing flying to his hand. He holds it to Terris Roye's mouth, and she vomits hard, her body shaking with the pain.

Talla and Charal exchange looks.

_We should help, too._

_Are you kidding? I'm not a doctor. I only know how to kill people._

_Talla, it'll take, like, an hour, tops. Just help._

_Ugh. Fine._

They're not the only ones affected by the sight of the Supreme Leader holding a bucket for a sick pilot. Around them, heads turn in surprise, and the whispers start.

"Here," says Kylo, handing the sloshing bucket back to the orderly, who looks stunned. Terris looks back up at him, and smiles.

"Thanks, sir," she manages. "Means a lot."

 

* * *

 

They spend two hours, all told, going from person to person on the hangar floor. At first, Charal and Talla silently get things for orderlies, masked and awkward. By the first hour, Charal's helmet has been discarded, and she's helping hold intravenous bags of fluid. Talla's more unwilling, but after she helps a burned pilot who can't be more than nineteen get a drink of water, she has a change of heart and follows suit, removing her helmet and bouncing from patient to patient.

They had been expecting a lot of comments on their species. The First Order isn't precisely known for diversity in its ranks—you'd never see a Gran officer, or a Togruta orderly. They're both surprised to find that most people treat them with respect and a small amount of awe—after all, they're Knights of Ren, aren't they?

Kylo is clearly not comfortable with the amount of people he's forcing himself to speak to, but plugs doggedly on down the hangar, line by excruciating line, tailed by both his guards. There's blood, burned flesh, broken bones, frostbite, spaceburn, and contusions. The smell of war clings to their clothes.

Finally, and rather abruptly, Kylo's come to the end of the hangar, and lets his gloved hand  drift away from the very last patient, a blond boy no more than eighteen who's had his left hand shorn clean off by shrapnel. Of course, they've got the stump wrapped in bacta, and of course, Charal brightly tells him about a state-of-the-art prosthetic hand she saw a guy using once in Canto Bight: solid electrum and came with an array of modifications including a bottle opener, a back-scratcher, and "for your _girlfriend,_ of course, she'll love it," a bullet vibrator, and by the time they stand up he's laughing instead of crying.

Kylo straightens his back and looks around at the exhausted orderlies, the pale blue coats spattered with blood. He wants to say something encouraging to them in the sudden silence, but he can't think of a thing to say, and he feels ashamed of his ineptitude. Fortunately, he doesn't have to. He can see it in their eyes: they're surprised and glad that he came, and a few of them nod at him.

War. It's the worst thing he's seen, and he's furious and ashamed of himself for never really forcing himself to come to terms with the personal price war exacts on the people fighting it before now. Snoke certainly never did. _Go there, do this, kill them:_ no regard for consequences whatsoever. No regard for life. No regard for the men and women under his command.

Charal and Talla quietly escort him out of the hangar and into a side hallway, where, unseen, he slumps to his backside and—well, he doesn't cry exactly, but his eyes get red and watery and he very quietly informs them that he will find his own way back to his quarters tonight, and that he's very grateful for their hard work today.

Talla, overcome with emotion, squeezes his hand, and they both leave.

 

* * *

 

Rey had woken up, eaten a snack, meditated, and gone back to bed a few hours ago. She's half awake, just on the twilight edge of sleeping, when she thinks she hears the door to her room hiss open. She writes it off as a trick of the air filtration system (it hisses on all the time) and she's slipping back into the velvety embrace of sleep when the door to her sleeping area slips aside.

"Don't get up," whispers a male voice, and she jerks slightly, startled. "It's all right. Don't be afraid. I'm not—I'm not going to hurt you." It's a familiar voice, but she's half-awake and can’t quite place it: husky, low, almost a monotone, a little shaky. "I just wanted to look at you."

She rolls over and squints against the dim light from the seating area. "Ben?" she whispers.

"Rey." He's leaning against the door frame, pulling his gloves off lazily, and his head is nodding a little. "Shh."

Rey sniffs. He smells like blood and something sharp and acidic, maybe vomit? And over it there's a strong, pungent scent of—"Are you _drunk_?" she asks, one eye open and one shut, raising herself up on one elbow. She's not sure if she's dreaming or not.

"Yes. No. I don't know." He drops the gloves on the floor and leans down to tug at his boot, but loses his balance and crashes to the floor, directly on his backside. It doesn't seem to faze him a bit. "Hmm. Internal gravy—gravity generators must be malfunctioning."

Rey fights a laugh in spite of herself. "Your _brain_ is malfunctioning. What are you doing in here? It's the middle of the sleep cycle."

"I told you," he says, finally succeeding in tugging his boot off and starting on the other one. "Just wanted to look at you. Little…sand-rat, all in a nest. Brown." He gestures vaguely at her hair. "You have freckles. Whiskers, if you want. I _like_ sand-rats."

She tries not to smile. "Okay. Well. Here I am. Why are you taking off your shirt— _Ben—_ "

"I smell like a bantha's ass," he says, flinging the shirt to the side. "In the hangar all day doing…greeting…seeing the injured. You know. Because of the battle."

"Oh. That's what you did?" Rey's intrigued, and trying not to stare at his bare chest. "Was Hux down there?"

He makes a childishly rude noise with his cheeks and lips, _ppbttt._ "Hux," he says, sounding irritated. "Demoted. Stupid. Got people killed."

"Good," says Rey, and he squints up at her, his face breaking into a beaming smile at her approval. It takes years off his face, and her heart almost melts, so she reiterates warmly. "You did a good job today." She's never noticed his teeth before, but they're white and just crooked enough to be endearing.

"Can I come up with you?" he asks, leaning his head against the wall. "I'm cold."

Well, the bed is big, and there are more than enough blankets. "Sure, if you can stand up," she says.

Kylo gets a foot under him and manages to make it to the bed, sitting on the edge. The motion-detector in the sitting room, having not detected movement for a few minutes, goes out, leaving them illuminated only by the very dim glow of Rey's bedroom lights.

"Where are you?" she asks, reaching out. Her hands brush against smooth, warm skin, and he leans toward her.

"Here," he says, somewhere deep in his chest.

"Oh," she says, her hands still on his bare shoulders. "Well, uh. Lay down."

It takes some wriggling and moving and blanket-shuffling, but they finally get comfortable, Ben on his side facing her about two feet away and Rey on her back, arms at her sides and feeling like she can't quite remember how to breathe. Her eyes have adjusted, and he's just visible on her right: a looming pale figure, weight pressing the mattress down. Slowly, she forces herself to relax. He's not touching her, and he doesn't seem to have any inappropriate plans concerning being in her bed, either. Rey takes a few slow, deep breaths and lets her muscles relax.

That's a mistake.

 _Gravity generators_ , she thinks as she begins to involuntarily roll toward him on the slope created by the sheer weight of him. _He's like a bloody tractor beam—_

She fetches up with her back against his chest with a startled squeak, and he sighs happily somewhere deep in his chest and flings one heavy arm around her, as if she's a stuffed tooka-cat.

Okay. He doesn't smell that bad, she decides. Just sweat and a whiff of body odor, leather and brandy. The really nasty stuff was all on his clothes, and they're on the floor.

"Good night," she whispers.

Kylo makes a little noise in his throat of contentment. She listens very intently, and she's able to pinpoint the exact second his breathing evens out and becomes slow and heavy and his body goes deadweight. He's out like a light.

Rey stays awake, listening to the sound of his heartbeat thudding evenly against her back, until it lulls her back into sleep, and she drifts off.


	15. faces exchanged

"Master."

Kylo groans and squeezes his eyes shut. His head is pounding, his mouth is dry, and he feels like he might be sick.

"Master, wake up."

The voice goes through his head like a knife, and he pushes his face deeper into the warm object he's curled around.  It's female, evenly-pitched, low with a faint rasp to it. _Charal Ren_ , he thinks. _Go away. Let me sleep._

"Master." That's another female voice: this one lighter, upper-register, sweet and bright with notes of urgency. Talla Ren. "You need to get up _right now_. You're in the _wrong room_."

Wrong room? How could he possibly be in the wrong room? That's ridiculous. His head hurts too much to think about it.

"It's 0600 and you have to report in half an hour to the bridge," says Charal. "Get _up_."

He forces one crusty eye open, then shuts it against the piercingly bright light. "Turn off the light," he rasps.

"There's no light on in here," Talla says. "What in seven hells did you drink last night?"

Drink. Right. He tries to remember what had happened last night. The hangar, the walk back to his room—interrupted by a quick stop at the deserted cantina in Hangar B used for pilots and crew: his fingers around the neck of a bottle of Corellian brandy, and after that—

After that—

Kylo peeks through his left eye again. His face is in something delightfully soft and silky, and he pulls away slowly, blinking in the ambient light (which might as well be turned on as bright as a sun, from how his head's splitting) and looking down as he raises himself up a little.

Rey. She's curled on her left side, and she's _extremely_ awake, and lying very still, looking up at him out of the corner of her eye. She's not…afraid, exactly, but slightly embarrassed, and there's another strange, apprehensive emotion he can't quite pay attention to. Her body is warm and firm, her backside pressed into his groin, and he's sporting a healthy morning erection—oh, that must be why she's got that funny look on her face—

Wait. He's in bed with _Rey?_

What is Rey doing in _his room_?

"I take it you're sober now," she says politely.

Kylo rolls over and grunts, screening his eyes with a hand. The light pouring in from the sitting area is as intense as a spotlight, although he knows the wattage in these cells are purposely low. Charal and Talla are standing side by side, looking down at him, fully dressed for the day.

This isn't his room. His room is black and sleek and spotless. This room is white and—

His gut drops. He's in _Rey's_ cell.

What is _he_ doing in Rey's room?

"Kark," he swears, and jerks upright, his head pounding as he swings both legs out and plants his feet on the bare floor. "Where are my—clothes?"

"Cleaning droid snagged them," says Charal, and hands him a stack of black fabric, folded. "Shower and change. You have ten minutes."

Kylo fights to not vomit as he reaches for the clothes. He then staggers to his feet, holding the clothes strategically in front of his groin, and stiffly legs it to the fresher, the door shutting behind him.

All three women very pointedly do not look at each other.

"So," Charal says, as the water in the cubicle starts running. "He, ah. You and he."

Rey rolls over, cheeks flaming. "What?" Her thin nightshirt has slipped down around her shoulder. "He came in here in the middle of the night and got into bed with me. He was drunk."

"We gathered as much," says Talla. "No, she means. Did you. You know." The Twi'lek gestures vaguely.

Rey shakes her head vehemently and yanks the covers up to her throat. She still doesn't quite trust Talla. "We did _not_ ," she says. The absolute impertinence. "Not that it's any of your business anyway!" she adds hotly.

"I told you, all he's done is kiss her," Charal says, rolling her eyes.

Outraged, Rey drops the covers. "You _told_ the rest of them?"

"I—" Charal looks surprised for a moment, then guilty. "Oh. Uh. Yes. Sorry."

Too infuriated to answer, Rey climbs out of bed and stomps over to her closet, pulling out a change of clothes.  "I'm going to change. You two can wait in the sitting room."

Talla laughs, surprised. "You don't give _us_ orders. You're a prisoner—"

Rey whirls around. "You can _get out of my bedroom_ or I can tell Kylo that you wouldn't leave me alone to get dressed."

Charal shakes her head at Talla and nods toward the door. "Come on," she says under her breath. Talla wrinkles her nose and leaves without so much as a look at Rey, and Charal closes the door as they leave.

Rey sighs heavily, finally alone in the dim light. She misses Qore. _Probably off duty,_ she thinks, and strips off her sleeping shirt, shivering in the cold air. _Stars, can they figure out how to get a heating unit in here_? She sniffs it and deems it suitable for another night before it needs to be cleaned, then turns to pick up her shirt of choice, the light gray thermal knit she'd worn under her X-wing gear when she'd been—

The 'fresher door opens, and Kylo Ren walks through it, fully dressed except for his boots.

Rey freezes, and he stops dead at the sight of her, wearing nothing but a pair of basics.

They both just stare at each other for what feels like about a million years, until Kylo says an extremely bad word Rey's never heard before and averts his eyes, marching to the side of the bed and yanking on his boots.

The spell broken, Rey yanks her sweater on and holds the hem down past her crotch as far as she can, looking at the floor. "I don't—I don't suppose you'll come back later," she manages to say.

He looks up at her, and he looks so hungover and miserable that she almost feels bad for him. "You don't wear…anything… under your shirts," he observes, his eyes flickering down and back up to her face.

"I—no," she says, startled. What kind of a thing to say is _that_?

Kylo closes his eyes like he's praying for strength, and stands up. "I apologize for the imposition. It won't happen again." And just like that, he's out the door, and Rey stands there like an idiot until the outer door hisses shut, and she's really and truly alone in her cell.

 

* * *

 

Both Charal and Talla are blessedly silent on their way up to the bridge with Kylo. He thinks he might fling someone into a wall if he has to hear a voice half a second before he actually needs to. His head is still aching like fire, and nausea roils somewhere below his sternum. The helmet, thank the Force, dims the light.

The doors to the lift hiss open and he marches down the catwalk, where General Yiu and a few other superior officers are waiting. He inclines his head as slowly as possible without attracting undue attention.

"Supreme Leader," says Yiu. "Good morning. We've received some new intelligence we thought you should see." He turns to an aide and holds out a datapad, a blue hologram appearing above it, rotating slowly. "One of the search parties Hux sent out managed to report back before being killed in action. It appears the Resistance had an auxiliary base on Eadu, and that they've evacuated it completely as of yesterday, using the cloud cover to exit the planet's atmosphere on the other side."

"Which explains why they were able to mount a counter-attack on our forces," Kylo says, looking at the hologram. "And you believe they've managed to evacuate to Onderon?"

"Yes, sir. We tracked them there, and we have reports saying several very large transports touched down near the eastern mountains. There's an old Rebellion hideout there. It dates from the Clone Wars." Yiu taps the screen and the holo switches to show Onderon, the eastern range highlighted in orange and a yellow blip showing a location tucked between two ridges.

Kylo fights to concentrate past his splitting headache. _Don't follow them to Onderon, they don’t have any defenses_ , begs Rey in his memory, and he desperately tries to push it away.

 _What else am I supposed to do?_ he demands of her shade. _I have no choice._

"Very good. Alert the fleet and set coordinates for the Japrael System. I want every ship primed and ready for attack on arrival."

"Very good, sir," says Yiu, and salutes. "Shall we chat a route through hyperspace, or slow-route it?"

"There's no need for hyperspace. We'll make it there in three days if we go the slow route. That gives our troops time to rest and recover. You'll excuse me," says Kylo. "I must make preparations."

The officers all look slightly awed and nod, and Kylo sweeps his cloak aside and marches back down the catwalk, Talla and Charal flanking him.

 

* * *

 

Charal sighs to herself as she sits by Talla, attacking half an enormous omelette.

"I must _make preparations_ ," she mocks in a low, affected voice, and pops the bite of cheesy egg into her mouth. Talla giggles.

The officers and generals, at the words _make preparations,_ had envisioned their Supreme Leader secluding himself in a dark room and meditating ferociously, perhaps praying to the Force for guidance in the upcoming battle that was sure to wipe out the Resistance once and for all.

They certainly hadn't imagined Kylo Ren locking himself in his private dining room and gulping down nearly an entire liter of hot caf and a couple of anti-alcohol tablets, then plastering a cold wet cloth over his eyes and slumping down in the corner with the lights turned low.

Neither of the Knights are complaining, though. They're splitting an omelette and two pieces of toast spread with blue cheese and bright red jam, their own carafe of caf, and dark purplish fruit juice. It's the best breakfast they've had since they came on board.

 "Do you have to be so _loud_?" groans Kylo from under his wet napkin.

"I think he's feeling better," says Talla, very loudly.

"Better enough to complain, for sure," Charal observes, squinting across the room.

Kylo moves the napkin so he can glare ominously at them with one dark eye. "Talla, go back to quarters and find Qore Ren. Tell her she's taking over bridge detail until further notice."

Talla Ren frowns. "Why? The medical staff said she wasn't cleared for any physical—"

"Because she _can't talk_ ," he growls, and replaces the wet cloth.

 

* * *

 

Kylo spends the rest of the day with Qore and Charal, mostly sitting in the throne room with his helmet on the floor by his feet (thank the Force his headache is bearable by now) and listening to various commanders update him on the state of their respective departments. He figures out the best resting face to make them think he's extremely interested in whatever they have to say, but every thought he has veers off directly to Rey.

She's going to be furious when she learns they're going to Onderon. Furious won't begin to cover it. She might just murder him with her bare hands.

 _You don't have to answer to her,_ he thinks mulishly. _She's a prisoner. You're the Supreme Leader._

Unbidden, a memory pops into his mind of his mother, reading to him from some old classical book: _a man who says he is a king is not a king at all._ He'd asked what it meant—he must have been about seven or eight, and she had smiled and said—

What had she said? Kylo can't remember.

 _Master_ , says Qore politely. _Tell Commander Lux that you appreciate her telling you._

"I appreciate you telling me, Commander," he says automatically, and the woman salutes and walks away, satisfied. He pokes Charal mentally. _What did she say?_

There's a long, drawn out sigh in the Force. _She's the commander of the 45 th. She was telling you that her men are about fifty-fifty on recovery and expected to be doing much better by the time we reach Onderon._

_Oh. Thank you._

Charal crosses over to Qore, her mind wandering. _Where have Obri and Kira gone off to? I haven't seen them lately._

Qore settles in her stance. _They're busy._

_With what?_

Kylo clenches his jaw. _If I wanted everyone on the ship to know, I'd have told you, Charal._

Stung, Charal lapses back into silence.

He checks his chrono. Only four more hours to go. _Force, this seat is uncomfortable._

 _Uncomfy is the backside of a king,_ Qore teases lightly.

 _What's that from_? Kylo nods imperiously at the captain who marches in and kneels, then begins to drone about the fuel reserves in Tank A.

_Some classic play, I think. Can't remember. Maybe it's a spoof I saw on the HoloNet once._

Kylo sits back slightly. _Ever heard the quote 'a man who says he is the king is not a king at all' or something like that?_

Qore muses over that, and in the absence of a Force-conversation Kylo has no choice but to listen to the boring captain's monotone, nodding and promising to send someone to check the wiring on the motivators. As he leaves, Kylo reflects that Hux might have had it right with his whole _delegate everything to everyone else below you and never get a finger dirty_ approach: being accessible and open to everyone is exhausting and incredibly boring.

 _It's from 'A Treatise On Monarchy and the Conduct of The Prince'_ , Qore Ren says. _By Chandar Voss._

Of course it is. Kylo swallows, tamping down the tide of emotions that threatens to flood him. _Do you remember what it means?_

Qore sounds thoughtful. _I think it means that the louder a man cries that he is a ruler, the more insecure about his reign he is. If he feels he must shout his title to the people he rules over, he is no leader at all._

Kylo goes silent, brooding.

 _Master?_ ventures Charal.

He stands from his throne, startling both women. "I've changed my mind," he says evenly, and strides down the center of the room toward the doors. They follow him out to where a major is waiting, looking startled at his appearance. "Major Keli. Tell General Yiu to proceed to Onderon immediately. I want the fleet in hyperspace within the hour."

"Yes, Supreme Leader," she says, saluting.

"And get someone into the hangar. Prepare my ship."

The two Knights hear him say, _Tell Kymber it's time._

 

* * *

 

Rey jerks to her feet as the door to her cell slips open, but it's only Kymber Ren, the Umbaran. Rey's learned to recognize them all at this point by their masks. "Hush," she says, and closes the door behind her.

"What are you—"

"I’m here on Kylo's orders," she says, taking off her helmet and striding into the bedroom. Rey follows in surprise, which quickly turns to shock as the woman flings open Rey's closet and starts pulling things out, tossing them onto the bed.

"Oi!" she says, indignant. "Those are my clothes!"

"You won't need a lot." Kymber throws a bag down on the bed. It's got two straps and a tie-down flap, which she opens. "This is a standard issue survival bag. There's already food in there, enough for a few weeks, plus a medkit. What else—" She trails off, thinking, her colorless eyes narrowed. "You've got no shoes."

"They didn't give me any," Rey says, bewildered. "I'm a prisoner."

Kymber stands next to her far too closely for comfort, holding her left foot along Rey's right. "These should do," she says after sizing them up, and tugs them off.

"I can't take your _boots_ —" begins Rey, but Kymber shakes her head firmly.

"I'm under orders to give you anything and everything you need. That's final. Here." She hands Rey the boots. "Put them on. When you've done that, put on your black coat with the hood."

"But where are we going?" Rey asks, automatically slipping her feet into the boots and tightening the straps. They're good, sturdy shoes with thick soles, just a little too big.

"Offship, that's where," says Kymber.

The _Annihilation_ shudders slightly, and then Rey realizes.

They've jumped to lightspeed.

They're going to Onderon.

"No," she whispers through numb lips. "No, no, _no_."

"Coat. Get it on." Kymber's shoving her arms into the coat, one at a time like she's dressing a child, and Rey's too shaken to move. "Take the bag. Pick it up. Let's _go_ , I was supposed to have you in the lift by the time we jumped."

"Where are you _taking me_?" Rey demands, terror rising in her throat.

Kymber pauses, her lavender-white hands drumming on the bag. "I'm not supposed to tell you what's happening until we're on the ship. Kylo was very insistent—"

"This is _Kylo's_ plan. Of course it is." Rey's terror has switched to fury. "He doesn't give a damn about me, or my _friends_ —"

"Rey—" Kymber's becoming frustrated. "Don't make me use the Force. We have to go _now_."

Rey turns on her, spitting fire. "I'm not going anywhere without Kylo—"

Abruptly, her anger and fear vanishes. She blinks, confused. _No, I was angry. I was—why was I angry?_ "Come," Kymber's saying, handing her the bag and tugging her toward the door, and Rey follows, her only emotion a calm, peaceful obedience.

_No, no. Something's wrong. You have to be upset! Get upset!_

But she can't remember why she should be so upset. They get into the lift and descend, floor by floor, and she still can't manage to muster a shred of resistance, until they're in the hangar and heading to a black, huge, angular ship with wickedly long, pointed solar arrays.

"What is _that_?" she asks.

"That's a TIE Silencer." Kymber reaches the craft, the pair of them ignored by the shouting rush of pilots preparing to drop out of hyperspace and mount the attack, and climbs up the outer scaffolding to the top, heaving the hatch open. "Get in."

Rey climbs down, still feeling like her emotions are sluggish and slow, and lands in a heap on the shining black floor. She rolls over and looks up at Kymber's pale face, looking down at her. "Aren't you coming?"

"No. This is where I tell you what happens." Kymber looks around. "You're going to wait in here. Don't try to meddle with the flight controllers or the computer; they're coded and won't work for you. Don't make a fuss, because if someone sees you, you'll be killed on sight. Stay in that corner behind the beam to your right, and stay down. You're going to be all right. Oh, and I'm sorry about the Force-manipulation. I think that's all."

"But—"

"And—may the Force be with you," Kymber adds, in very hushed tones, before she lets the hatch fall shut with a ringing, metallic clang.

All Rey's emotions come flooding back, and she sits up with a jerk. "No!" she screams, furiously. "That's not telling me _anything_!"

There's movement out the front of the round viewport, and she quickly ducks back down, trying to control her shaking hands. _All right. You've been dumped in a TIE Silencer, whatever that is, that you can't fly. You're stuck. You're alone._

Rey looks around the cockpit. The ship is far bigger-looking on the outside. She's lying in a space behind the cockpit about two meters long and a meter wide, the curved beam over her head echoing the curve of the cockpit. It's just big enough for four people to maybe stand comfortably, but there's no seat for a passenger. _Does Kylo expect me to just slide around like unsecured cargo_?

Minutes tick by. Her left foot is falling asleep.

Above her, there's a thump, and the hatch rattles.

Rey scrambles into the little corner, wedging herself between the curved support beam and the back wall. Just before the hatch cracks open, she remembers her bag and snatches it into her lap protectively.

A pair of black-booted feet comes down hard on the floor, and she jumps, startled, before the hatch clangs shut again and her new shipmate makes their way toward the cockpit. The person is cloaked in black from head to toe: it could be anyone.

She recognizes the mask, sleek and sectioned with a gridded front, and frowns. "Kymber?" There's no answer. The ship hums to life, and she braces herself against the wall, suddenly unsure of herself. The person's about the right height, but why would Kymber have left her just to go back for her helmet? "Who are you?" she demands.

"I suggest you sit tight," the pilot says, voice modulated, inflectionless, and unrecognizable.

Rey does as she's asked, and clings to her bag. The fleet jerks out of hyperspace, and her pilot flicks several switches, then grabs the controls and accelerates so hard Rey can feel it in her chest. They streak out of the hangar and toward the green-brown surface of Onderon, visible past the pilot's helmet out the viewport.

"Oh, Force," mutters Rey, clinging to the wall. Emerald-green bolts shoot past them, and her mouth falls open. "They're _shooting_ at us!"

"Hold on," says the pilot, and she does, for dear life, as they streak down toward the surface.

"They're _still shooting_!" she shouts, covering her head out of instinct as the ship spirals and cuts to avoid the bolts.

They reach the atmosphere, and the pilot swivels, checking the rear. "This won't be fun. I'm sorry."

"What?" cries Rey, and then a black-gloved hand is dancing over the flight computers and the whole ship shakes—Rey is thrown forward, cushioned only by her bag as she bashes her head on the back of the chair, and they careen wildly to the right, directly into a bank of fog. _They've hit us!_

Rey has just enough time to see a massive, leafy sea of treetops before something explodes behind them, and the ship is propelled sideways. Something strikes her hard, there's a crash, and she floats, senseless, in a sea of black.

 

* * *

 

" _Sir, we've shot down the stolen Silencer. Can confirm no survivors. It went down near the foothills of the eastern mountains."_

The pilot's call is rough with static, but clear. General Yiu sneaks a sideways glance at the Supreme Leader, who's standing impassively with his hands clasped in front of him, masked and cloaked.

"Excellent," Kylo Ren says, his modulated voice low and even.

General Yiu nods. "Do we know who stole it?"

The Supreme Leader tilts his head in a gesture that makes Yiu feel as if he's being judged. "Our prisoner is the only one who could. She's—she _was—_ a decent pilot, and clever enough to override the security codes. No doubt she thought she was a match for our fleet, and desperate enough to attempt it after all she knew was exposed to us."

"Of course," says Yiu.

"Pity," says Kylo. "I liked that fighter."

"I'm sure Sienar-Jaemus will be pleased to send another, sir."

The Supreme Leader turns on his heel, looking out at the viewport. "I'm sure they will. Leave the wreckage. We can search it later. Pull the TIEs around to the site of the old Rebel base. I want everything we have focused on finding the Resistance."


	16. smoke and blood on your lips

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> WE FINALLY EARN OUR E RATING, FOLKS. Hold on to your butts.

The sound of distant birdsong rouses Rey to consciousness.

At first, she thinks she must be dead. She hasn't heard birdsong since they stopped on Naboo for that refuel four months ago, and she'd thought it was the most beautiful thing she'd ever heard. Maybe when people die they just go to the most beautiful places they can think of. Rey can almost see it. Waterfalls, and birdsong, and gentle wind and flowers.

She's not very comfortable, for being dead. She grunts, and then gasps, trying to pull air into her lungs. Her eyes flutter open. Her immediate field of vision is a shining black floor, strewn with clothing and ration packs, and she thinks, _oh, my pack must have come open_. Rey's left arm is bent under her body, and her right arm is flung out against the floor, numb and prickly. Her torso is twisted so that her hips are sideways and her chest is pressed against the floor, and it's not comfortable: her ribs are digging into a strip of metal. Both her boots have been knocked off, leaving her in sock feet. Her right shoulder is sore: she must have slammed into the floor.

Rey groans and pushes herself up. Something sticky and hot is on her forehead, and she touches it, wincing at the pain. It's blood. There's a cut in her hairline. Bacta—she has some in the med-kit. She reaches for it clumsily and drags it to her, unpeeling the sticky patch and pressing it to her head. It's a one-minute patch, fast-working. She checks the rest of her body for any open wounds, and miraculously finding none, looks around the cabin of the Silencer.

There's a body slumped forward over the flight controls. Black-clad and helmeted, one hand hanging limp. "Hey!" she tries to shout, but it comes out more of a croak. She clears her throat and tries again. "Hey!" The pilot doesn't move. Golden sunlight is shining down across the prone form from the broken panes of transparisteel in the viewport.

_Kark me, if one of the Knights died—_

That thought is too awful to consider. Rey clambers across the floor (not very even, they're sort of pitched oddly to the left) and shakes the figure. "Hey! Are you alive?"

There's a low, long groan from the body, and Rey jumps, startled, as the head lifts and shakes from side to side as if they've been stunned. "Are you all right?" asks the pilot.

"You have to take me back right now," she demands. "I'm not leaving that ship without Kylo Ren."

"I'll take that as a yes." The pilot pushes themselves back up to a sitting position, slowly. The helmet is cracked up by the forehead, where they'd crashed headlong into the flight controllers. A black-gloved hand reaches up and touches the crack.

"Take me _back,_ " Rey orders, as the pilot stands carefully, looming in the space between the viewport and the seat. She backs up a step.

"I might need a bacta patch." The pilot's fumbling with the strap holding the helmet on, and Rey's so angry she could almost kill this person she doesn't even know.

"Are you listening to a _word_ I'm—"

The helmet comes off, and Rey's breath almost stops.

" _Ben_?"

Kylo gives her a crooked little smile. His face is drenched with sweat, smeared with dirt, and he's the most beautiful thing she's ever seen. "Still want to go back? I think the fighter's still operational—might have a leak in the rear engine, and the viewport's broken, but—"

She crosses the space between them in one step and grabs him, pulling him into a tight embrace, and he grunts softly and brings one big hand up to cup her head, as if he's unsure of how to do it.

He came. _He came with her_ , he's made his decision, he's _free—_

"Rey," he whispers, gently moving her away, at arm's length. "The Order's going to find the Resistance base. You have to go."

"What?" she asks blankly, because that doesn’t make sense. "No, you're coming with me."

"No, I—" Pain spasms across his face. "I'm going back."

"What?" Rey stares at him in shock. "But you—"

"I'm the only person I trusted to get you onto the planet's surface safely. Kymber Ren got you in here; Talla Ren threw on a pilot's uniform and pretended to shoot us down—"

"Talla did _what—"_

"She fired on the stuff I ejected out of the spare parts compartment. I had Kymber throw a grenade in there for good measure so it would look convincing. Then Talla called back to the bridge and said there were no survivors, so nobody's going to come looking for you. She's going to pick me up in ten minutes and slip me back on board. The Order—you're dead. As far as the Order knows, you're dead. You can _go_." Kylo's face is trembling with some barely-contained emotion. "You're free to go."

"I'm not going back without you," Rey insists.

"I still have one more thing to do," he says. "Just one more thing. You have to—you have to let me go."

"No." Rey shakes her head in denial, tears in her eyes. "No—you said you'd come, you _promised_ —"

He can sense her fear, her terror of being left alone again, abandoned. "I'm coming back. I'm coming back, I promise."

She grips his clothing, up by the shoulders. "Swear to me," she whispers, her beautiful face set in hard lines, her eyes on fire. "Swear it. That you'll come back."

"I swear it," Kylo whispers, and she reaches up, left hand tracing the scar on his face. He hasn't been touched like this in—years. Possibly more than a decade. Her hand is gentle, and small, and he knows in that instant he's coming back, even if he has to come back in pieces. Even if he has to face down the whole First Order with nothing but his Knights and his lightsaber, if he has to kill every man on board—

"Ben?" Rey whispers, and he knows she's felt it, that shift in his mood.

"I _need_ you," he rasps, and those three words are more real and true than anything he's said or done in the past several years.

She grabs him firmly by both cheeks and she kisses him hard. She doesn't care that there's blood in her mouth or that he smells like smoke; that his hands on her upper arms are shaking. He lets out a desperate little groan and moves to pin her against the wall, and she lets him do it, the pain in her head almost forgotten.

He breaks the kiss to yank his heavy cloak off, the whole thing collapsing to the floor in a heap, and comes back for more, chasing her mouth again.

"Didn't you—" Rey manages, as his mouth leaves hers and starts traveling along her jawline, "need a—ooh—bacta patch— _Ben_ —"

He huffs somewhere down by her collarbone. "Later," he says roughly, and plucks at the knit sweater. "Isn't this a little warm for you?"

"It sure is," she says with a grin, and with one smooth movement she's pulled it off over her head, exposing—

Kylo Ren swallows very slowly and tries to breathe. Her breasts, in full daylight, are like everything he'd imagined and like nothing he'd imagined. Small, pert; like round, full teardrops high on her chest. Her nipples are pink, peaked, small. He wants—

He takes his gloves off, very carefully, and reaches out. Rey doesn't move to stop him, just watches with something like anticipation, and he cups them, lifts, squeezes gently. His hands are so large that they almost disappear in his palms.

Rey makes a little noise in her throat as his thumbs brush her nipples. Encouraged, he does it again, and watches a flush creep up her throat. "How much—" She clears her throat, and tries again. "How much time do we have before Talla comes for you, again?"

"Not nearly enough," he says, and moves his hands down further, to the waistband of her pants.

"I want," she says, and presses her lips into a thin line.

"You want…?" he prompts.

Rey lets out a shuddering little sigh, and shakes her head. "We don't have the time," she whispers.

"Say it." Kylo lets his hands drop further, brushing lightly against the gusset of her pants, and she jerks forward, seeking the pressure like a heat-guided missile. "Hmm?"

"Just—" She's scarlet to the ears, but plunges on. "There's things we can do that don't. Take a lot of time. And don't require—ooh—undressing _much—"_

Kylo sucks in a breath. "Hold that thought," he orders, and abruptly lets go of her, turning and sorting through his pockets for a comlink. He activates it. "Pilot TR-4294?"

It crackles. " _TR-4294 to Monkey-Lizard_ , _go ahead_."

Rey snorts, and Kylo turns red. "This is Monkey-Lizard. Requesting delay on scheduled approach."

There's a brief silence, and then, a very serious, " _TR-4294 to Monkey-Lizard. Understood. Will delay by two minutes."_

Kylo groans. "Monkey-Lizard to TR. I'm insulted. Delay by ten minutes."

The comlink crackles back to life, and Talla's laughing her ass off on the other end. " _TR to Monkey-Lizard. Ten minutes. Copy that. Over_."

"Force, I should have asked Charal to pilot," he grumbles, tossing the comlink down on the cloak.

Rey's giggling. "Two minutes, huh?"

Kylo strides across to her. "I don't need to take this from _you_ ," he growls.

"It's getting warm in here," she says, looking up at him from under her eyelashes. "You should take off your shirt."

"Oh," he says automatically, and steps back, stripping to the waist as quickly as he can. Rey's eyes are wide, and she's drinking him in, every scar and every imperfection. He almost wants to cover himself again, but she steps forward and presses her hand to his chest, stopping that thought right in its tracks.

"Does this—" she begins, and lightly traces his left nipple with her right index finger, "—feel nice?"

Kylo tries to get an answer past his lips. _You could pull my hair out by the roots and I'd thank you. You could lay me open with a vibroblade, dissect my organs and tear out my heart and as long as you didn't stop touching me I'd love every second._ "You touching me…feels…nice," he manages.

"Oh," Rey says, and follows the scar up to his shoulder. "So…here?" She leans forward to reach it, which brings her chest flush against his, and he fights to keep his composure. Her breasts are soft, pressed up just below his pectorals— "Ben?"

"What?" he asks, the word half-caught in his throat.

"I said, does it feel nice here?" She strokes his shoulder, up where the muscle connects to his neck, and he shudders.

"Please," he whispers, and it's not an answer to her question, precisely, but he's so hard that he doesn’t care anymore. "Please. Rey."

Rey doesn't reply to that, but she kisses him on the chest (he'll treasure that, a tiny miracle all on its own) and pulls him down on the floor until he's flat on his back and looking up at her, and she's fumbling with his trousers.

Sudden panic swells in his chest. "Stop," he demands, and Rey draws back, looking startled. "I don't—" He squeezes his eyes shut, desire and fear warring within him. Fear wins. "I don't want you to touch that."

"Oh," she says. "I—can I do this?" She inches forward and straddles his hips, and he fights to not buck up into the warm space between her legs. "Yes?"

Kylo lets out a very undignified sound and clings to her hips. "Wait—" He raises her up and unclasps his trousers, shoving them down so that the only things between their bodies are her prison-issue white basics and his black, tight, thin sythknit ones, and brings her back down gently. "Yes. This."

"That’s…big," Rey says in surprise, wiggling her hips to press against the thick ridge of him.

Kylo can't breathe. Her heat is surrounding him, the _friction_ feels incredible, so, so good—

Rey presses a hand to his chest and very carefully, lightly, rocks herself against him with a soft little noise, heat pressing down on him from base to tip in one long movement.

Kylo's vision goes blurry at the edges. He grips her close and holds her in place with a cry, hoarse half-sobs tearing out of his throat as he unexpectedly comes. His whole body is shaking, wound tight as a cord: his cock spilling hot and wet into his basics as he ruts frantically against her.

Humiliation floods him as the climax recedes. He hadn't even been _touched_ and he'd come in his pants like a _teenager_ ; he can't even look at Rey, he wants to die—

"Ben," she's saying, stroking his face, and he forces himself to make eye contact. Her eyes are wide and nervous. "Ben, I'm so sorry—I didn't mean to hurt you—"

"You didn't," he croaks miserably. He's still clinging to her waist. There are tears on his face: whether from the force of his climax or something else he doesn't know. "I—I—I came—"

"Oh," Rey says, surprised. "Well. The _Courtesan_ says that happens sometimes, and not to worry." She thumbs a tear away from his cheek. "I thought—you looked like it hurt you."

His cock is softening, oversensitive. He winces and pats her thigh awkwardly. "Can you, ah. It's hurting a little now—" She gets off him instantly, looking abashed, and he scents something familiar in the air, senses something— "Are you…are you _wet_?"

Rey goes scarlet, her hands fluttering about in from of her crotch as she kneels by him. "I—yes. Do you—do you want to see it?"

His mouth goes dry. She's not hiding now, she's offering this to him _freely_ , not as a bargain, not as a—"Yes," he says. "Please."

She hooks her thumb into her basics and clumsily yanks them off, still sitting on the floor, exposing her body to him in its entirety for the first time, and Kylo's mind goes entirely blank as he just stares. Her body hair is trimmed neatly, the dark triangle of soft hair pointing down to—

"Let me see all of you," he whispers, and she blushes, then spreads her thighs.

Kylo Ren forgets about the sticky, unpleasant feeling in his basics, about Talla coming for them, about the whole First Order and the Resistance: all of it. Her flesh is pink and swollen and slick, layered like the delicate little petals of an opening flower, and he's reaching out to her before he knows what he's doing.

He stops himself, his hand an inch away. "Can I—"

"Yes," she says, biting her bottom lip, and his thumb gently traces the lines of her, top to bottom, where his index finger slips into—into— _oh—_

"Oh," says Rey, and shivers, her nipples hard in spite of the heat. "No—go back up to the top for a moment—"

He does, and there's a strange little nub beneath the flesh at the top. Rubbing at it gently makes her yowl like a moss-cat, so he does that, over and over from side to side until she's quivering and coming, wetness on his hand and smearing on the floor, and Kylo can barely believe it: her thighs drawing up and her little face, teeth bared as her climax rockets through the Force and surrounds him. _A gift. It's a gift. I made her do this._ He's going to treasure the look on her face until the day he dies, he knows that as surely as he knows anything.

"Ohh, _Force_ ," Rey says, when she can talk. "Time—how much time—"

Right. They're on the edge of a battle. They can't stay in the wreck of the Silencer forever. Kylo snatches his chrono to him with the Force and peers at it. "Five minutes."

"Five minutes," she echoes, and shuts her eyes. "Could you—I want you to—" Rey's mouth shuts quickly, like she hadn't meant to start the sentence that way.

"Anything," he says, and he means it.

"Your mouth," she squeaks, and blushes. "Could you—are you—"

"I, uh," Kylo says, a flush creeping up his cheeks. "I've never—" That's a singularly interesting thought: he knows _men_ can be pleasured with a mouth and he knows women can do it to each other: he'd never considered the other way around.

Rey's as red as his saber, babbling apologies. "If you—if you don't, I—I'm sorry—"

"No! No, I do—I mean. I want to. I just never—thought of that."  He gives her a once-over. "It might be easier for you if you stand against the wall."

"Oh," she says, and steps back, her back braced against the durasteel. She slips her knees apart, and he rolls to his knees, shuffling between her knees. Carefully, he leans in and presses a kiss to her inner thigh, up by where it joins her body, and she jolts slightly, one hand finding his hair.

Her fingers are shaking, and he decides he's going to go very, very slowly.

Kylo kisses her just above the line where dark hair begins and soft skin ends, then dips lower, his nose buried in soft curls, until he finds what he's looking for and presses his mouth to it, tongue pressing back and forth, trying to re-create the motions he'd used before with his hand. She tastes earthy, almost alkaline: a strange unidentifiable tang on his tongue, and her scent surrounds him.

Rey lets out a strangled noise and her fingers grip his hair as she bucks into his face. "Oh, _Maker._ Little lower. It's—" Her sentence ends in a garbled whine, and Kylo gladly does as he's told, his right hand easing up and holding her trembling thigh steady. He can't really breathe, but he'd rather suffocate than stop.

"Fingers," she forces out between her teeth. "Give me—fingers, _please_ —"

Kylo doesn't hesitate. He slips his index finger down, then gently presses it inside her, into the wet, slick heat of her body, only up to the second knuckle. "Like this?" he murmurs, breaking contact for a moment. He's sure he's not harming her, but it doesn't hurt to make sure. His fingers are thick, and she clenches down around him, the muscles fluttering.

"Like—" Rey reaches down with her free hand and pumps his hand back and forth, in and out of her. "And—and—curl your— _oh­—"_

He crooks his finger in a come-hither gesture, and her toes curl. "More," she pants, and he slips his middle finger in alongside his first, then repeats the curling and pumping motion as he presses his mouth to her again. He can't speak, so he touches against her mind with the Force: _I want you to remember this. Remember this. I'm coming back. You're not alone._

She shrieks and pulls her knees up, squeezing his head with her thighs, supported by only his shoulders and her back against the wall. " _Fuck_ ," she screams, echoing the word he'd dropped in her bedroom, so long ago—or was it yesterday?—he can't breathe, he can't breathe, he closes his eyes and just gives her all he has until his jaw is aching and she's sobbing out his name and wet heat is gushing across his face. He can sense her climax through the Force: blistering, spine-cracking, tearing through her body. It's enough to make him weak at the knees.

When she releases him, she almost collapses. Kylo holds her steady and brings her down carefully, laying her out on the floor. There are tears tracking down her cheeks, and her mouth is open in a slack little _oh_ ; her eyes bleary, half-open. He can't help but take a little pride in his work. "Are you alive?" he asks, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

"Ngh," she moans, head turning. That's good enough for him. Kylo lies down by her, curling up, one hand tucked between his chest and her arm. He doesn't want to touch her, to impose.

Rey has other ideas. She turns to her side and presses herself into his chest, her head tucked under his chin. He freezes, unsure, then lets one arm drape across her shoulders and back, and she sighs, then draws in closer.

Yet another damned miracle: she _wants_ him.

Kylo looks at the contrast between his arm and her body, and wishes he hadn't. He's too big, ungainly: his skin is a pasty, mushroom-like color from hardly ever seeing daylight—she has beautiful sunkissed skin, she's small and lithe and why the hell is she even touching him, why does she want—

"Stop that," she mutters, from somewhere in his chest.

He hasn't been guarding his thoughts properly. Quickly, he locks everything behind the wall of his mind, ensuring she can't see, because the last thing he wants to do is ruin this for her—

"I didn't mean shut me out," she says, sounding irritated. "I meant—talk to me."

"You don't want this," Kylo says, and he doesn't mean to sound so broken. "Me, I mean. You can't possibly want— _me._ I wouldn't want me."

Rey scoffs. "Don't tell me what _I_ want. I haven't given up on you yet and I'm not about to, and you promised you'd come back anyway, so." She raises herself up on her elbow. "Do you hear something?"

Kylo listens, and hears the unmistakable drone of a TIE fighter's engine going through the landing sequence. "Talla's here," he says, and sits up quickly, reaching for his shirt and tunic. There's no hope for the drying, uncomfortable mess in his basics: he'll have to clean up later. "Get dressed. You were supposed to be gone by now."

Rey staggers to her feet with a soft little moan of discomfort that _really_ shouldn't make Kylo's whole brain stutter to a halt and grabs her basics, pulling them back on. She's fully clothed and she's just gotten her boots back on, Kylo adjusting his cape, when the hatch above them clangs open and Talla's blue face pokes through, upside down, lekku dangling.

"Hi!" she says cheerfully, and wrinkles her nose. "Ooh, it smells like—"

"You can keep your observations about the smell to yourself," snaps Kylo. "Get back to the ship and wait for me. I'll be there shortly."

"Don't take forever," she warns, and winks at Rey, who's taken off guard by the gesture. Before Rey has a chance to say anything, Talla's flipped back up through the hatch, and they hear her land in the leaves outside.

Kylo turns to Rey, his face all changed from the soft openness to a nearly unreadable mask of hard determination. "Get your pack. I'll help you out."

She snatches the thing up and hands it to him, at the top of the ladder. He helps her climb out of the hatch, and she blinks in the sunlight, screening her eyes. Talla's TIE fighter is a good twelve meters away, engines hot, and the Twi'lek is already back in the cockpit, waiting.

Kylo lifts her down from the top of the crashed Silencer, his hands firm on her waist, then turns to her once she's steady on her feet. "Rey. This is important. Get to the base as fast as you can. They're about five klicks that way." He gestures to the north. "Get into the foothills of the mountains and stay low. When you get there, tell General Organa—" his voice catches in his throat. Rey puts a hand on his arm. "Tell her to prepare for an attack. And no matter what happens, trust me."

 

* * *

 

He clambers into the back of the TIE, in the gunner's position. Talla Ren doesn't wait to be asked, but lifts off and turns, so he can face the girl on the ground as long as he can.

She looks very small, he thinks, standing in the clearing by the remains of his ship, surrounded by hundred-year-old vines and trees and roots. Small and brown and fragile.

Rey raises her hands and signs to him, her hands delicately sweeping through a series of three separate signs.

Kylo's throat constricts. It's Galactic Basic Signing, and it means, very simply, _I love you._

He presses a hand to the transparisteel, desperately trying to think of a reply, and Talla kicks the engines into gear, leaving Rey behind: a speck of brown in a green world, then nothing at all.

He thinks about those words the entire way back to the _Annihilation._

_I love you._

_I love you._

_Rey. I love you._


	17. a few close scrapes

Rey turns and starts to run the minute the TIE fighter has streaked back into the atmosphere.

Over and under vines, branches, roots and leaves: it's rough jungle terrain, but she was raised running in the sucking, shifting sands of Jakku. This is much easier.

The pack is heavy and bumps against her back with loud thumps, accentuating every step: _whap whap whap._ There's a lingering ache in her legs that won't go away, and a hitch in her side, and before long she's sweating, her clothes sticking to her.

Rey dumps the jacket and rolls her sleeves up and keeps running.

_Five klicks. Get to the foothills. Five klicks. Get to the foothills._

It seems like she's been going for an hour before she realizes she's made it to higher terrain, sloped and gentle, the mountains above her. "Foothills," she gasps aloud, bent with her hands on her knees. The pack must weigh eighty tons. She fishes out the canteen and gulps down a mouthful of cool water, then hoists the pack back on her back and slogs up the hillside. There's a shallow ravine to her right, wet and muddy on the bottom and fringed with lush foliage, and she slides into it quickly, keeping low as she moves up the side of the hill.

She can't get Kylo out of her mind. _You promised me_ , she thinks blindly as she trudges up the hill. _You promised me you would come back._ His mouth on her, his fingers, his desperation. _He's coming back. He has to._ No, she can't think about that right now. She won't. She has to stay focused on the mission and _not_ on how thick his fingers are or how soft his hair is or how he'd held her up against the wall with just his arms—

Above the trees, she can see the batwing shape of the _Annihilation,_ small and gray in the atmosphere, flanked by the arrowhead shapes of the Star Destroyers in the fleet. How strange, to see something so huge from so far away. How strange that she was on that ship only hours ago.

Rey keeps plowing forward. Up and up and up, for what feels like hours until she's at the top of the ridge dividing the rise she's just climbed up from another, steeper slope.

A pair of scouting TIE fighters suddenly whine over her, sweeping several hundred feet above the surface. She quickly presses herself flat to the rock to hide and loses her grip, falling and sliding down the side of the steep ridge on a patch of rotting, slippery leaves.

"No, no, no," she chants frantically, rolling as she picks up speed on the decline. Rocks scrape her skin through the thin leggings, vines whip across her face and body, and she clings to her bag as tightly as she can with both arms, praying when she lands, it's not bad.

She lands.

It's bad.

"Ungh!" Rey's breath is knocked out as her whole right side slams into the packed, soggy earth at the bottom of the ravine. Her teeth rattle and searing pain rockets up her arm, and she think she must have blacked out, because the next thing she's really aware of is opening her eyes to the sky overhead, feeling as if she's been run over by several ground transports.

She's sure her right arm is broken. She can't move it, and it feels oddly detached, even though it hurts like fire.

"Help," she groans, trying to suck air into her lungs. There's dirt in her mouth. A stab of pain flashes down her side, and she catches her breath in a sob. If she's got a broken rib, the wrong movement could be a big problem. The bacta patch on her head is gone, the exposed skin suddenly cool, and she lies very still and tries to focus on breathing.

Her pack's come open again, and a gleam of metal inside catches her eye. Rey gasps in a shallow breath, then another, and reaches across her body with her left arm. Absently, she catalogs the damage to her left hand: thumbnail torn clean off and oozing blood, scrape up the heel, cuts.

Her bleeding fingers reach in and wrap around the metal thing, and she immediately knows what it is before she pulls it out.

Her lightsaber. It's whole again. He'd fixed it at some point: a thin line of soldering the only mark of the damage it had sustained aboard the _Supremacy_. It's warm and solid in her hands, and she clutches it to her chest and begins to cry.

That's how the scouting party finds her, several minutes later: a girl lying on her back, filthy and bloodied from her fall, limbs askew like a broken doll—one hand gripping a lightsaber hilt like it's her only hope and the other limp in the dirt.

"Hey!" One of them pulls a blaster on her. "Identify yourself!"

Bleary hazel eyes drift to his face, and she whispers, "Rey. Warn the Resistance. They're coming."

 

* * *

 

Kylo, masked in Kymber's clothes, stalks down the hall leading back to the lifts with Talla. He finds himself continually needing to remind himself not to walk in front of her, but beside her.

_Any news on Obri or Kira?_

Talla's Force signature tastes of confusion. _No, was there supposed to be?_

 _Forget it._ He jabs a thumb into the lift, steps back, and waits.

The doors open, and several pilots walk out, joking with each other and laughing. They pause at the sight of the two of them. "Ma'am," says one awkwardly.

"Ma'ams," corrects another, a man with dark hair, and a third one snorts.

"Move aside," says Talla darkly.

"Aw come on," says the dark-haired one. "Don't any of you ladies know how to have fun?"

"You're not my type," Talla tells him, and that gets a chorus of boos and jeers from the pilots. Kylo fights to keep himself from clenching his fist and killing them all.

"What about you, sweetheart?" asks the second, and Kylo realizes with a shock that the man's addressing _him._

What the _hell._ "You're not my type either," he says bluntly, and Talla snorts beneath her mask. _Stop laughing, we don't have time for this—_

"Aw, come on," says the pilot, and sidles up to Kylo. "I _love_ tall chicks. The Supreme Leader doesn't have to know. Which one are you, the Umbaran or the one with all that gorgeous hair? 'Cause honey, either way I promise to show you a good time—" His hand brushes Kylo's ass.

 _Right, forget this._ Kylo reaches up and yanks Kymber's helmet off, revealing his face to the six men, whose faces all turn absolutely stark white.

"Kill them all," he says through his teeth to Talla, and she whips out her little close-range blaster. "No, not with that. Use the Force. I don't want the custodians to have to clean this up."

"Oh, right," she says, and turns her gaze on the men, concentrating very, very hard.

Every blood vessel in the men's brains ruptures like ripe fruit, and they collapse like puppets without strings into a heap on the floor.

"Now what?" Talla turns to Kylo brightly, tucking her blaster away.

Kylo's already jamming his mask back on. "We'll shove them in, ah—" His eyes light on the utility closet, and he points. "There." He twitches a finger, and the bodies all float up from the floor.

"They're not going to fit in there," she objects.

"Do you have any better ideas?" he demands. "No? Then help me shove them in there."

It's not until they're back in the lift several minutes later that he peeks at her out of the corner of his eye. "Does that…happen often?"

"Not to me," she says. "Not after that first incident. You'd think they'd learn by now." Talla sighs, a huff of static under her mask. "Men are stupid. No offense, Master."

"None taken," he mutters.

"What's the plan when we reach the bridge?"

"You'll see. Just stay quiet and follow my lead."

 

* * *

 

Poe Dameron is not having a good day.

He'd been able to handle the panic after Rey had been captured by the First Order—newly promoted to Commander again, it had fallen to him to calm everyone down and make a few good jokes about how Rey was sure to break out in no time and kick Kylo Ren's scrawny ass from here to Ord Mantell.

As the days, and then weeks, had ticked by, he'd begun to lose hope himself. Finn had taken to morosely sitting in the comms room, waiting for any sign that she was alive or well. Even Leia had shouldered on, with a lot of talk about how Rey's fate wasn't in their hands anymore and the least they could do was to keep working.  Poe had wanted to mount an attack to get her back, but they had no way of tracking the fleet, and besides, he'd managed to take out most of his frustrations during the Battle of Eadu.

But even a whole Star Destroyer's obliteration couldn't replace the hole in the Resistance left by Rey's absence. Half an hour ago, they'd spotted the _Annihilation_ looming overhead, and immediately moved all operations below ground. He'd been busy sending out scouts to make sure no ground troopers got near their base: with any luck, their signals won't pick up any activity. They're prepared to grab everything and evacuate through the tunnels in the mountains, but in the event they do have to evacuate, it's not likely that they'll all make it. The First Order fleets have air to ground cannons capable of wiping out small cities. He's been awake for almost thirty-nine hours, directing the workflow and asking Leia to please, _please_ consider evacuating offworld (she refuses to leave) and trying to make sure everyone is prepared for the worst.

Then the scouts on Blue Ridge had called in for a medevac and said the three words that shook Poe to his absolute core: _We've found Rey._

"Is she stable?" he demands, running down the tunnel with the medical aide.

"Stabilizing, sir. We're not sure what happened. She's sustained a fracture to her right arm and a broken rib, lacerations, contusions, possibly a concussion—"

They burst into the makeshift medical bay: a warm, bright little cavern with several frantic aides moving to and fro, hovering over the form on the gurney in the middle of the room. "Oxygen mask!" shouts one of them.

Poe shoves over, heedless of the shouts around him. "Rey? You all right, kid?"

She blinks up at him and raises her left hand, giving him a thumbs-up. The nail on her thumb is gone, crusted black and red. "Hey," she mumbles.

Poe looks around in vain for somewhere to touch her that isn't swelling or bleeding and settles for the top of her head, cupping his hand around it. "What happened to you?"

She struggles to get a breath in, her lips pale behind the mask. "Kylo—" She groans sharply, and a medic looks up from the body-scan she's running down Rey's side.

"She's punctured a lung. I'm sorry, sir, you're going to have to leave—"

"Kylo? Kylo Ren did this to you?" Poe's mouth goes dry, and he's fairly sure he's seeing red.

Rey can only let out an agonized wheeze, and someone drags Poe back from the gurney, the laserknitter coming out.

"You're not going to want to see this, sir," says a gentle voice, and Poe looks up to see Major Kalonia, the lead physician. "Or hear it."

"She's my squadron-mate," he insists. "I'm staying." From the gurney, Rey lets out a thin, high wail, and Poe's fists clench at his side, fighting the urge to knock the laserknitter out of the aide's hands.

Doctor Kalonia takes him by the arm. "She's going to be all right, Poe," she says. "Come on. You have other things to do. Why don't you go update Leia on the situation?"

"I—" Poe swallows and blinks tears out of his eyes. "Yeah. Yeah. Okay."

Rey screams again, and he forces himself to turn and walk out of the medical bay, groping blindly for the wall that will lead him back down to the main tunnels.

 

* * *

 

"Sir," says General Yiu to the Supreme Leader, "we've located the Resistance base." He taps a hologram, showing the topography of the mountains. "Preliminary data suggests they have a blast-proof door covering the main entrance, just in front of this plateau in the mountains."

Talla and Kylo walk onto the bridge, both masked. The Supreme Leader nods at them, and Kylo feels Kymber Ren's consciousness touch across his mind: _what command should I give?_

He hesitates, taking his place by her right side. _Tell him to send down troops. Don't fire on the base._

"Excellent," says the modulated, masked voice. "Send ground troops into the area. Don't fire on the base yet."

"Very good, sir," says General Yiu, and turns to carry out the order.

_I kind of like being you. Everyone's very deferential._

Kylo rolls his eyes inside the mask. _Don't get used to it._ Rey should have made it back to the base by now. Has she found his mother? Have they spoken yet?

He takes a silent breath inside Kymber's mask and reaches out to touch a presence he hasn't felt in over a year.

 

* * *

 

"Rey's been found. She's here."

The table of the Resistance leaders bursts into murmurs and soft gasps.

"Rey's here?" Finn asks, looking up with shocked eyes. "Where?"

"In medical," Poe says, hoping he doesn't sound as tired as he is. "She's sustained some pretty bad injuries, but Major Kalonia thinks she'll be recovered fairly shortly."

"How did she get hurt?" Rose Tico asks from across the table with the other engineers, her brow furrowed in concern. "Did she steal a ship and crash-land?"

"I don't think so. I asked her what happened. She told me—" Poe fights down the bubbling anger again, _keep it together, Dameron_ , "—that it was Kylo Ren."

A sigh goes up, shock and not much surprise. Leia looks up sharply, her eyes bright above her high- collared coat, but doesn't speak.

"That bast—" Finn catches himself with a glance at Leia. "That—arrogant _dick_."

"General," says a quick, crisp voice from the door. "We have eyes on the Order. They appear to be sending down transports to the surface." The young Lieutenant Connix holds out a datapad.

"Finn?" Leia says, gesturing.

Finn stands up and walks over, looking down at the screen, his eyes narrowing. "These are trooper transports," he says. "They're sending ground troops. A lot of them, too—those are AAL-1979's, they can hold up to a hundred men per carrier, and it looks like…almost fifty of them are on their way down, escorted by TIE fighters."

"Five thousand troopers," mutters Poe. "General, should I lead Black Squadron in an aerial assault? If we go now, we can shoot them down before they make planetfall."

Leia isn't quite listening. Her eyes are fixed on something beyond Poe, and she looks as if she's concentrating very hard on something at once lovely and terrible.

 

* * *

 

A presence, roiling in the Force, a band of glimmering light shot through with dark.

Familiar as her own hands, and yet alien, strange to her.

_Mother. I'm coming._

 

* * *

 

"General?" Poe asks.

Leia doesn't so much as blink. "Ben," she breathes, staring at the wall.

Poe and Finn exchange glances. "Uh, ma'am?" says Finn.

Leia jerks back slightly, as if startled. "Finn?" Her eyes focus and clear, and she blinks in confusion.

Poe frowns. "I was asking if we should get some pointers into the air and—"

"Yes," says Leia, looking slightly shaken. "Yes, I think that would be wise."

"Great. I'll get my team ready to go." Poe salutes and hurries out, back down the tunnels. BB-8 rolls along at his heels, warbling and hooting through a string of morose-sounding burbles. "Happy beeps, buddy," he grumbles, and swings a left into the medical area. "You go get the engines hot. I'll meet you there. Go!"


	18. a slight hangup

Obri Ren and Kira Ren have been in worse positions before, but at the moment, neither of them can quite bring to mind what they might have been. Certainly neither of them has ever spent almost a week cramped in the air ventilation systems disguised as maintenance technicians, only speaking to each other through the Force.

 _Force, I stink,_ mutters Kira.

 _There he is._ Obri's eyes are focused on a man moving quickly along the hall, his head down.

They've been tracking his movements for days. He doesn't sleep, preferring to self-administer stimshots in dark corners. He variously changes between a stolen officer's uniform, a pilot's uniform, a trooper's armor, and a custodian. In the past two days, he's made a circuit around Kylo's location, narrowing in on the Supreme Leader, and they're sure he'll strike soon.

Kira slowly inches down the shaft with Obri, watching as he calls a lift. _He's going somewhere in a hurry,_ she says to Obri.

A comlink beeps, and the man raises it to his face. "Yes," he says, without much inflection. He waits, and an encrypted hologram flares to life, the other person obscured by static, the voice warped into unrecognizability.

"If you're going to strike, do it soon. I am running out of patience. The Supreme Leader is heading to Hangar B with his generals and his guards."

"Yes, sir. How many of his guards?"

"Four. Do not fail me again."

"No, sir." The connection ends, and the man tucks the comlink back into his pocket as the lift doors slide open. He steps in, and both Kira and Obri exhale simultaneously as the doors shut.

 _Are you sure that was Hux?_ Obri crawls forward to the drop-door and unlatches it.

 _Who else? Here, let's get out and get some air._ Kira slips down with her, landing in the well-lit corridor below, and they both groan and stretch, their cramped limbs enjoying the freedom for a moment.

 _Next step?_ Obri gives her an expectant little look.

 _Hangar B. That's where he's going._ Kira adjusts her cap, which is very helpful in covering her telltale hair, and sniffs her armpit. _Maker, that's bad._

_Lift. Let's go. You can shower later._

The doors slip open and they step inside, heads down.

 

* * *

 

"Sir," says Major Keli, saluting by the shuttle ramp, "the engines are hot and you're cleared for departure."

"Thank you, Major," says Kymber from under Kylo's mask. At her sides, Talla, Charal, Qore, and Kylo are still and silent, masked and cloaked in black and fully armed. "Knights. With me," she says haughtily, and they march aboard.

 _I do not sound that angry all the time,_ Kylo says. _Do I?_

 _You absolutely do_ , says Charal.

On board the Upsilon-class command shuttle, Kymber takes her place at the back of the passenger compartment, flanked by the Knights. General Yiu joins them, along with Major Keli. Six troopers march in, flanking them, headed by Captain Phasma in her shining chromium armor.

"Sir," she says, saluting Kymber. "We're prepared to depart."

Kymber nods and turns to the pilot. "Take off," she says. "I want this over with."

"Yes, Supreme Leader," says the pilot, and starts the ignition sequence.

The ramp slides shut, and the shuttle lifts off effortlessly, slipping past the hangar's shield and descending down to Onderon's surface.

 

* * *

 

"Huttshit," snaps Obri, staring at the departing shuttle. "We’re too late."

"Here," says Kira tersely, and drags her behind a shipping crate. "All right. Assassin's on board with Kylo. He can’t do anything while he's in transit: the rest of us _and_ Captain Phasma are on board and I think they're more than a match for one measly guy jumped up on stims."

Obri nods, trying to center herself. "Phas. Right. Okay. So what do we do?"

"We steal a ship and get down there." Kira looks up. "I think that transport shuttle they're loading will do. Just hop on and say we're—um—supposed to check the wiring on a shuttle that's…already landed, and hope they buy it."

"Should we try to use the Force to warn them?" asks Obri. "Qore at least—"

"Let me try—" Kira shuts her eyes and focuses, reaching out. She brushes against Qore, who's Force-signature is rapidly inching away from her range, and—

A sharp, heavy blow cracks her across the head, and it's only due to her cap and her thick braid of hair cushioning the inside that her skull doesn't crack. "Sithspit!" she screams in pain, one hand on her head, and staggers to the side, stars sparking in front of her eyes. "Ob—"

Obri's fighting tooth and nail with someone, and Kira blinks, seeing black clothing, an electropike of some kind, and a helmet obscuring the face.

"Did you _really_ think you were moving unseen?" sneers a clipped, nasal voice.

 _I'm concussed. I can't focus. I can't—_ Kira fights the pain and looks to her right.

Armitage Hux is standing there in his teal colonel's uniform, which really does nothing for his skin tone or his red hair. He's wearing a vicious smile, and his eyes are glinting, and there are two more guards flanking him—

Kira struggles to reach her vibroblades. She knows there's one inside her jumpsuit and one stashed in her boot, but her hands aren't obeying her movements, and the Force is slipping out of her grasp like a fish. Something warm and wet trickles down her neck. "Assassins," she manages to spit out. "You."

"We don’t have time for this. Stun them and put them on board." The other two men move forward, and the last thing Kira hears is Obri's furious scream of defiance as something pricks her neck and the world goes black, and soft, and warm.

 

* * *

 

"All fighters, follow my lead," Poe says into his headset. He'd begged a stim off of Doctor Kalonia, and she'd lectured him about being reckless for a solid two minutes, but boy, was it worth it. He feels _great_. "This is Black Leader, standing by." He's flying fairly slowly over the treetops, low enough that the sensors won't pick them up.

One by one, each pilot calls out their sign, and Poe drops into position, ready to fire. "All right. We're going to fire on all transports. Try to stay low, there's a storm moving in from the east and the last thing we need is one of you sprogs getting hit by lightning."

A chorus of "copy that" meets his ears, and Poe thumbs the triggers. "Bandits are straight ahead at ten thousand feet. Pull up and open fire!"

A rainstorm of scarlet bolts streaks across the graying sky, and transports explode into fireballs, one after the other. TIE fighters peel off and begin to fire back, green flashes of energy tearing through the atmosphere. Poe yanks the stick of his T-70 back as far as it can go and fires on the transport above him, peeling off to the left as his shots tear through the hull of the ship and burst into flames. Bright green bolts scream past his cockpit so close they scorch the paint, and he doesn't even care.

This is what he was _made_ for.

He thumbs the comms to Leia as more transports explode. "General, we can confirm—" Poe checks his sensors—" twenty ships down, twenty-one—twenty-five—"

"Good work, Commander." Leia sounds proud. "Finish that job and come back to base as soon as you can. I want minimal loss of—"

Poe's hair is standing up on the back of his neck. His arms prickle under the flight suit he's wearing, and he looks up at his controls to see the black-winged shape of Kylo Ren's Upsilon-class shuttle descending like a harbinger of doom through the upper atmosphere, glowing orange on his screen, thousands and thousands of feet above him, coming in for—

His controls are glowing blue. BB-8 is screeching frantically, and he opens his mouth to reassure the droid that he's sure it's nothing, just before he hears Jessika Pava screaming frantically through his headset, _Commander_ , _get low, get low!_ —the loudest noise he's ever heard explodes through his head.

He falls.

 

* * *

 

Kira Ren opens her eyes. She's lying bound and gagged on the floor of a transport, and she's staring at Obri's ass.

It's not that she _dislikes_ staring at Obri's ass in particular. It's just that Obri's ass appears to be upside down, clad in a drab gray mechanic's jumpsuit and jiggling slightly with the bounce of turbulence and oh, right, they were in disguise because they were supposed to find that damn assassin and where the hell _is she—_

Kira tries to reach out for the Force. She can't. It's hovering just out of reach, maddeningly unattainable.

That's fine. She doesn't need the Force. "Mmm," she yells through her gag.

Something presses into her chest, pushing her over on her back and pinning her bound wrists behind her. It's a black, shiny tall boot, and the boot is attached to a leg, and Kira follows it up and up to Armitage Hux's cold pale face above the collar of his black gabarwool coat.

"I see you've recovered," he says. "Don't bother trying to make yourself float, or whatever it is you ridiculous people do. You've been injected with—well, it doesn't matter really, but it's a naturally-occurring Force-repellent substance that was _very_ difficult to produce and expensive to get, so do try to behave yourself."

Kira jerks her lower body around, her bound legs moving together, and she sweeps Hux off his feet. He crashes to the ground in a heap of gabarwool and leather, and she flips herself up with the momentum, landing on both feet and rolling atop him, knees pressed into his stomach. She decides she'll do all the damage she can, and headbutts him in the face. His nose breaks with a satisfying, wet crunch, and he screams in pain.

Two pairs of hands drag her away and off him. Kira yells through the gag and struggles, but her hands are behind her and the two men in black are _strong_ and before she knows it, she's back on her side, panting through her nose.

"You," snarls Hux, slightly muffled through his broken nose, "are affronts to the First Order. Both of you."

Kira tries to wake up Obri. It doesn't work. She can't touch the link that connects them. "Mmmph," she says instead, through the gag, trying to stare a hole into Obri's head.

"Sir, we're halfway to Onderon's surface. There's a bad storm on the eastern range. Should we find an alternate landing site?" That must be one of the assassins, but Kira can't see his face, just the hem of his black robe as he sits in the pilot's seat.

"Yes. Get as close as possible. I want to be there when it happens." Hux is silent for a moment. There's a crackle of bacta patches—Kira recognizes the crinkly noises.

 _What would Qore do?_ she thinks, and the only answer coming to mind is _play pyramid chess._

What a stupid game. Pyramid chess. Too many rules and too many levels and it's overly complicated, you have to think of everything ten moves ahead. General beats queen, queen beats senator. Take the planet. But if there's a storm on the planet, does someone get an extra move? Nobody had thought of that, had they?

Kira thinks she might still be slightly concussed. Her head is aching, and she's lost her cap somewhere, her long braid loosely curled around her head like a crown. _Am I a queen piece, or a pawn?_

_No. I'm a knight. General takes knights. General tries to take planet. General—what stops a general piece?_

Her disjointed thoughts are interrupted by a hand in her hair, seizing and dragging her backward. Kira shrieks in pain through the gag, tears gathering in her eyes—her scalp is sore and tender where she was hit, and the wound is still open. "Mmmpph!"

"Be quiet," Hux hisses, as he maneuvers her into a kneeling position. Her head spins, but she can see the cockpit and notes the points of interest: the three assassins in black, Obri's limp form, and the viewport. They're inside a trooper transport, a small one, the kind that only holds about twenty men.  Her bound hands are pressed uncomfortably to Hux's stomach, trapped behind her back. "Do you see that?" His black-gloved hand points out the viewport; his other is buried in her hair, forcing her to look at the curve of the green-and-brown planet below. "Onderon. Your master is about to die there, at my command. But you'll be spared from seeing it,never fear. I'll kill you both first."

Kira says something in a sad and pathetic tone, her body trembling, her words muffled by the gag.

"What?" Hux demands.

She turns her head, giving him the most soulful look she can, and repeats the muffled words.

Hux yanks her gag down with a finger, letting it drape around her throat. "Repeat that," he says.

"I said," she says, "you can go choke on a Rathtar's balls."

Hux purples with fury and tightens his hand in her hair. "Do you know who these are?" he demands of her, indicating the black-clad men. "They're Amaxine warriors. Oh, yes. You know who those are."  Kira's gone rigid, staring at the men, a memory darting into her mind: she's watching the HoloNet and a newscaster is saying, _the Amaxines are presumed to have been the primary force behind the cartel, funneling millions of credits to the First Order—_ "They never went away. They've been with us all along. Useful when you want to get something done quickly, you see. Willing to do almost anything for the right price."

"It's my experience," says Kira, as if she's discussing the color choices in the transport interior, "that true loyalty gets better results than money."

Hux scoffs. "Loyalty. Credits don't fade with time."

On the floor, Obri stirs.

"Ah," says Hux gleefully. He lets go of Kira and stalks over, crouching by the other Knight. "I see your friend is waking up." He rolls Obri over to her back, and Kira notes with some mortification that her jumpsuit has become undone somehow, one shoulder and half a freckled breast exposed. Hux clucks his tongue, his eyes tracing across Obri like slime on a rock. "Pity. I do like redheads."

"Yeah," says Kira hotly, "it's the closest you'll ever get to screwing yourself."

Obri snorts through her gag, and Hux stands, attention back on Kira. "You _are_ a mouthy one, aren’t you? I should have known Ren's Knights were no better than feral animals." He grips her chin with a cold, gloved hand, and forces her to look up at him. "You know what the Order does to feral creatures?"

"No idea," Kira says tightly.

"We tame them, or put them down. And something tells me you're not the tamable type." Hux moves his hand and yanks her braid free, the heavy length of it swinging down to her waist. "Are you?" He pulls out one of her songsteel vibroblades, one of the set—where's the other? It isn't on her belt. "Pretty little thing, here. A gift from the Supreme Leader, I take it. One must wonder what you did to earn such a gift."

Behind him, Obri is unobtrusively fiddling with her wrist bonds. Kira can just see her out of the corner of her eye.

"I guess you'll have to find out," she says, narrowing her eyes at him. If she can just get him distracted long enough for Obri to get her bonds undone—"After all, if you wanted us _tamed_ , or on your side, you'd have to prove yourself as Master of the Knights of Ren."

"I don't want _you_ on my side," he says derisively. "I've bought my own guards. Six of them."

"Right, paid," Kira says. "But would your Amaxines do what we've done for Kylo Ren? Do you really think money can buy loyalty? Or will they leave you open to attack for a higher price? Your safety will never be paramount. Credits will." She shifts slightly, and realizes that the second blade is still concealed in her jumpsuit.

Hux blinks, as if unsure. In the cockpit, masked heads swivel slightly, listening to her. Obri's face is beetroot-red with the strain of getting her wrist free, and then she goes still, one arm jerking in a tell-tale sign.

Kira hurriedly continues. She can see that past the viewport, they’ve started their descent into the atmosphere. "We've done things you can't even imagine. Isolation. Starvation. Torture. Assault on our bodies, on our minds. Will they do the same? They see this duty to you as a job. Our duties are our whole life, our entire purpose."

Clearly Hux hasn't considered this, and looks slightly shaken. The fear she sees in his eyes turns to anger. "I will not tolerate disloyalty to me or to the First Order," he snarls.

_General takes Knights. Two Knights at once may take a General, but only after a move granting the player two simultaneous moves._

"No. You won't." Kira straightens her back. "You will surround yourself with worthless men. And that is why you will fail."

Obri Ren leaps up and wraps her bonds around Hux's throat, pulling for all she's worth, dragging him away from Kira. The two Amaxines who aren't piloting leap into action, and Kira closes her eyes, dislocates her thumb, and yanks her right hand free with a cry of pain.

An electro-pike streaks down toward her in an arc. She dodges it neatly and snatches her blade off the floor where Hux had dropped it and ducks again, feinting, slipping inside his strike, and driving the songsteel edge upward, directly into the crack between helmet and collar. A river of blood pours out, staining her hands, and she yanks the blade back out, then turns, popping her thumb back into joint with a muffled curse.

Obri is screaming curse after curse at Hux, his eyes bulging, his fingers grappling at the binding. The other Amaxine is trying to get at her with his pike, but she's using Hux as a human shield to great effect.

Kira flings herself at the Amaxine and grapples with him for a moment. He's a few inches shorter than she is, so she has the advantage of height, but he weighs more, and easily keeps his grip on the pike.

 _All right. Have it your way._ Kira slams herself sideways, one foot pushing off the wall, and uses her momentum to slam him to the ground. The shock loosens his grip on the pike, and she yanks it from his hands and flips it around, stabbing him through the stomach with the pointed end. He convulses as the electric charge fries his organs, and she rips it back out, turning to Obri.

Obri's face is scarlet with exertion. Hux's lips are blue, and he's losing consciousness. "Obri, we need him _alive_!" she shouts, and Obri lets out a shriek of frustration and drops the gurgling Hux. Kira tosses the pike to her and Obri snatches it out of the air with one hand. "Pilot. Let's get the pilot."

A moment later, the Amaxine in the pilot's seat turns very slowly toward them, Obri pointing the electro-pike and Kira pointing her vibroblade, both of them streaked in blood. He tilts his head, seeing the two bodies of his fallen comrades, and Armitage Hux trussed up like a large poultry in the passenger hold.

"Where would you like me to land, ma'am?" he asks Obri, his voice steady.

"That's a good boy," says Obri. "Land in that clearing." She points through the viewport at an empty open area in the jungle far below. Rain is beginning to patter down on the transparisteel, coming hard and fast. "And if you make one wrong turn, I'll kill you so fast you won't know what hit you."


	19. masks over masks

Poe Dameron opens his eyes.

There's rain falling on his face, dripping into his nose. He grimaces and reaches up, wiping at his face and screening his eyes from the downpour.  One of his feet is bare: his boot gone. He carefully sits up and takes in his surroundings. The jungle is eerily silent. His jumpsuit has been half-burned away, his skin exposed to the air.

His X-wing is about ten meters away, keeled drunkenly on its side, with blackened burns bubbling and stripping the paint. It's smoking, and the transparisteel cockpit cover is…melted, the material warped and twisted, a hole with black edges just above the pilot's seat.

_I was hit._

Poe clutches at his chest. There's a pins-and-needles, static feeling lingering in his arms and legs, and his helmet—where is his helmet? He looks around again and sees it, a lump of misshapen synthplast and metal smoking between him and the X-wing. There's a scorch mark on the right side, near the top. Poe reaches up and gingerly touches the right side of his head. His hand comes away with chunks of stinking, burned hair, and there's pain on the surface, but he doesn't appear to have sustained a fracture, or—

He clears his throat, and frowns in confusion. He can't hear the noise in his own throat. He… can't hear. He—Poe reaches up again and touches his ears, and his fingers (his gloves are gone, but his hands are still whole) come away red. Eardrums. He's ruptured something. He's lost his hearing.

Kriffing _lightning._

 _BB-8!_ he tries to shout, but his own words can't reach his ears. He has no idea how loud he's being, or how quiet. _BB-8! Where are you?_

Something bumps against his back, and he turns to see the familiar orange and white droid, slightly the worse for wear: dirty, scorched in a few places, with a fried holoprojector array and a dented dome, but whole and moving. The little droid wobbles its head back and forth, photoreceptors taking in Poe, and Poe realizes BB-8 is speaking, saying something, and he can't hear his own droid.

 _I'm sorry, buddy,_ he says, and BB-8 rolls backward in surprise. It must be his volume. Poe tries again. _I'm sorry. I can't hear you. My audioreceptors are fried._

BB-8 tilts the little dome downward in a morose little gesture, then rolls back and forth, swivels, and extends a little arm out of its toolbay disks, pointing in a direction.

 _Go there?_ Poe looks down at himself, slightly dizzy, and takes in the rest of the damage: there's a brown network of lightning shaped scars like a thousand thin fingers extending down his chest, and he wonders if his face has been— _Hey, BB-8. How's my face look?_

The droid swivels back and takes him in, then bobs its dome from side to side in a gesture Poe takes to mean "eh, not bad."

_We gotta head back to base. I need bacta. Base is that way, right?_

BB-8 bounces slightly and rolls forward, and Poe takes a few staggering steps. He's drunkenly dizzy, and he's sure once the stimshot wears off he's going to be miserable. _All right, buddy. Lead the way._

 

* * *

 

"Ma'am, Kylo Ren has landed," says Lt. Connix, her pale face looking very set. "What should we do?"

"Are they firing on the doors?" Leia looks up from her seat at the conference table.

"Not yet, ma'am. The party has landed and they're disembarking right now."

"Who's in the party?"

Connix looks at her datapad. "Kylo Ren, four people in black like him and masked, two officers, Captain Phasma, and six stormtroopers."

Finn looks over her shoulder. "That's General Teemu Yiu and Major Kaela Keli," he says, indicating each, his dark brow furrowing. "Hux isn't there. I wonder why?"

"It could be a trap," offers Commander D'Acy.

Leia stands, leaning on her cane. "It may be. Or it may not be." She looks at Connix with determination in her faded dark eyes, and sets her jaw. "I'll go out and meet them."

"Ma'am—" says Finn urgently.

" _No_ —" begins Connix, shocked.

"Quiet," Leia says. "I want you all to listen to me. One of the last things I told my brother was that I believed my son was gone. My brother—Luke—told me that no one is ever really gone. No one. And he's right. My mother and father—my planet, my people, my friends, my husband: they're not truly gone. They live within my memory. They can't come back. But perhaps my son still can." She turns to D'Acy without another comment. "Commander, I'm naming you acting commanding official in my absence. If it goes wrong out there, get everyone to safety. You'll want air cover, as well, until you get the transports out of range."

"Yes, ma'am," says Larma D'Acy, and her lower lip is trembling, her large eyes wet. "What shall I do concerning Black Squadron?"

"Call them back in. I'd like to tell you to find Poe, but at this point I think he may be KIA." Pain crosses Leia's face for a brief moment, and is echoed in Finn's. "Whatever happens, stay together. Keep the fire burning. And have hope."

"Yes, General," she says, and salutes. "May the Force be with you."

Leia Organa, Princess of Alderaan, Senator, and General of the Resistance, gathers her robe around her, turns up the hood to protect her braids from the rain, and walks out to the tunnels to meet her fate.

 

* * *

 

"Of course it's _raining_ ," Obri spits, shaking her hands on her way back up the ramp of their landed shuttle.

"It's a jungle planet. There's going to be rain. Just use Hux's stupid coat." Kira tosses the gabarwool coat at her, and Obri pushes it forward on her head.

Hux, gagged, makes a loud, angry noise of protest. He's regained consciousness, and he isn't very happy about the situation. "Oh, can it," snaps Kira, turning around to face him.

She's just in time to see the Amaxine pilot rising out of his seat and rushing her, a long, toothed blade in his hand. "Sithspit," Obri says, and Kira dodges, just quick enough to save her throat, but not quite fast enough to stop the blade from ripping open her upper right arm. She tosses her stolen blade from right to left and ducks, down on her knee. He leans forward—too far—and her blade slips right between his ribs.

The Amaxine groans and collapses slowly, and Kira, not really wanting to drag this out for more than she has to, pushes him over onto his back and cuts his throat. "That's for Qore," she growls as she saws through his windpipe and his jugular, and draws back, wiping the bloody knife on her jumpsuit pants and turning around. "Thanks for all your help there," she says sarcastically to Obri, who's leaning against a wall, her eye on Hux, who in turn looks very, very white. "I just… _really_ appreciate you jumping in."

"What? You had him just fine." Obri grins. "Someone had to watch General Colonel Treason over here."

"I hate you," Kira says, wincing and touching her arm. "Is there a medkit on board?"

"Yeah, here." Obri pulls the pack out of the compartment it's stowed in, and tosses it to her. "Slap bacta on that, it'll be fine."

Kira tears open a pack and sticks the green patch on her torn skin. "Right. Next step. Find Kylo, stop the last assassin."

"Great. Which way?" Obri drags Hux to his feet. She's hobbled him so he can walk, but not run, and made an efficient pair of cuffs out of her gag. He glares at her balefully.

Kira leans over the navigation chart on the screens. "That way. We start walking toward the northwest, we'll find the Resistance base."

"We don't want to go to the Resistance base." Obri frowns.

"Where do you think Kylo intended to go? He's there. We're going there." Kira straightens. "All right, let's move out." She picks up the medkit and slings it over her shoulder with the attached strap.

They walk down the ramp, Kira leading, Hux hobbling in the middle, Obri behind with one hand on Hux's wrists and the other poking him encouragingly in the back with her stolen electro-pike. It's pouring rain, and the sounds of the jungle surround them as they leave the landing site and head north into the trees and vines and mud.

It's generally quiet for another few minutes. Even Hux is quiet, no doubt seething silently and plotting some sort of revenge. They round a boulder, make their way down an incline, and trudge on through the trees, pushing ropey vines out of the way.

They've been walking for about ten minutes, their boots soaked in mud, drenched through, when Obri stops short, yanking Hux backward. "Kira. You hear that?"

Kira pauses. There's a rustling ahead, a rhythmic crunch-slop indicative of a bipedal creature walking in mud and bracken, and by the space between the noises she's sure it's a human. There's another strange sound accompanying it, some sort of constant crackle—is the human dragging something on the ground?

"Back," she says quickly. "I think—"

A man emerges from the forest ahead, and he doesn't even see them. He's wearing a burned, torn orange flight suit, he's missing a boot, he's bleeding, and leaning on a stick, and he's accompanied by an astromech—a BB unit, Kira's seen them on the _Annihilation_ , but this model isn't sleek and shining black, this one is orange and white.

Orange and white BB unit. She knows that description, but from _where_?

"Hey!" she shouts.

The man doesn't respond, which is odd, because he's only about thirty feet away, but the droid's audioreceptors pick up her words. It swivels, registers them, and begins to beep wildly, almost shaking from the urgency.

"Wha, Beebeeate?" the man slurs. "Whasit?"

The droid extends a tool-arm and wobbles back and forth, pointing to them as its dome swivels from them to the man. He looks up, finally sees them, and jerks back slightly, his hand automatically grabbing at his side where a blaster would be. "Don' move!" he bellows.

"He's Resistance," Obri says, her grip on the pike tightening. "Look at the crest on his shoulder." The remains of his white harness are burned and torn, but there's a dark gray starbird crest high on the left shoulder that they both immediately recognize.

"He's not armed," says Kira. The man is inching toward them, and he seems off-balance: the droid rolling behind his legs, peeking out at them nervously. She's sure she knows who this man is, but she can't _remember_. Her brain still feels like dead mush. "I know him. I'm sure I do."

"How could you know a Resistance pilot?" demands Obri.

"I—" Kira tries to think, and it comes to her, all at once, a starburst of clarity. "Poe Dameron. _That's_ Poe Dameron!" Hux, wedged between them, nods frantically and makes a good many muffled, agitated noises. "Right, see, even Hux knows."

The man is closer now, wielding a stick, his only weapon. He's close enough for them to make out his features: olive skin, a handsome face, dark expressive eyes. He smells like burned hair and cloth. "You," he says clearly and loudly, pointing at Kira. "You're First Order?"

Kira squints at him. "Your ears _are_ bleeding. Are you—can you hear me?"

"What?" he shouts, tonelessly.

"That's a no," says Obri.

Kira raises her hands with the intention of signing and Poe points the stick at her, looking extremely ready to do some serious jabbing. "Don' move, lady. You're First Order." He indicates her jumpsuit.

"No," she says clearly, enunciating her lips movement for his benefit. "Not First Order."

Poe isn't to be deterred. He points at her shoulder, the hexagonal patch on the gray jumpsuit clearly visible. "First Order," he insists.

"No," she repeats, shaking her head and pointing at herself. "Disguise. Spy." She holds a finger to her lips. "You understand—" she moves her hands precisely into the signs for _Can you read this?_ "—Signing? Deaf?" She touches her ear with a thumb.

"We don't have time for this," says Obri impatiently. "Just kill him." Hux seems to agree, nodding and making plenty of noise.

"He can help us get to the _base_ ," Kira says through her teeth as Poe nods and touches his ear.

"Yeah. Deaf. Lightning got me." He mimes being struck in the head. "You're a spy?"

"Sort of. You're burned," says Kira, and he is: there's a weeping patch of reddened skin on the right side of his head. "We have a medkit." She signs for _medical assistance_ and pats the bag. "Help you?"

He frowns and lowers the stick. "You move _slowly_ , lady."

Kira carefully slings the bag off her head and kneels, opening the flap. She holds out a bacta patch. "Head," she says, touching the right side of her head with the palm of her hand.

He jabs the stick into the ground and takes the patch, stepping back and unpeeling it with both hands. "Can't see the burn," he says. "Where izzit on my head—"

"I'll help you," Kira says, and stands up slowly, and he lets her take the patch and press it into place on his head. The burn is nasty, oozing fluid, but the patch seals it up and he sighs in relief. "There." She steps back, points at herself. "Kira."

"Kira," he repeats, lip reading. He indicates his chest. "I'm Poe." He points at the BB unit. "Thas Beebee-Ate." The droid rolls about enthusiastically and lets out a string of friendly-sounding beeps.

"Nice to meet you both. That's Obri," Kira says, pointing at Obri. "Hux." She points at the livid-looking, gagged Hux, muddy to the shins and disheveled.

Poe's face spreads into a wide grin, recognizing the other man. "No shit! General Hugs!" Hux looks infuriated, and struggles for a moment against Obri's bindings, but can't get free. Poe puts his hands on his hips and just takes in the view with no small amount of glee. "Unbelievable. Well, anyone who's got a rope on this bastard's a friend of mine."

Kira relaxes. "Can you lead us to the Resistance base?"

"Sure. That way." Poe points. "BB-8 has a map."

"You need a shoe?" Kira points at his bare right foot, caked with mud and wet leaves.

Poe eyes up Hux's insulated boots. "Sure do," he says, grinning again.

Hux chooses to sit in stony silence as the two women wrestle him to the ground and yank his right boot off, then his black synthsilk sock, handing both to Poe, who uses the sock to wipe his foot clean and tosses it to the side, shoving his foot into the boot. Hux looks wounded. Kira's sure the socks probably cost as much as the rest of his uniform.

"Fit all right?" Kira asks.

Poe tests the fit a little. "Maybe a little small," he says, raising an eyebrow at Hux. "You got tiny feet, Hugs? Y'know what they say about men with little feet."

Hux goes red with suppressed rage as Obri snorts in spite of herself. "Come on," she says, supplementing with signing. "We have to make it there quickly."

Poe nods. "You follow me and BB-8. We'll get you there." He waves an arm, and starts off, his loyal droid bumbling along ahead of him, and Obri and Kira follow.

"I still think we should kill him," Obri says.

"He's perfectly nice and he hasn't tried to kill _us_." Kira keeps her eyes on the pilot's back. "Plus, he dislikes Hux about as much as we do, so he's got that going for him."

"Mmmph," says Hux angrily.

"Shut up," they both say in unison, and keep moving.

 

* * *

 

"Sir," says Phasma, lowering her macrobinoculars. "We have visuals on a single person exiting the blast doors. Waiting on your command."

Kymber Ren, cloaked and masked in the Supreme Leader's clothing, stares straight ahead.

Kylo Ren brushes against her mind. _Go to the person_. _Order us to follow._

"I will go meet them," she says. "Knights. With me. The rest of you stay here. I will speak to the messenger alone."

Talla Ren, Kylo, Qore Ren, and Charal Ren step forward at once, flanking Kymber as she stalks forward, Kylo's lightsaber bumping against her thigh. They advance like a black arrowhead, marching across the stretch of flat, soaked land that lies in front of the massive blast door, entrenched so deeply into the side of the mountain that it looks nearly impenetrable, solid, heavy. The door is open, and someone is coming toward them.

 _That's not Rey_ , says Talla.

 _No._ Kylo sounds grim. _It is not._

They come to a halt. The other person is using a walking stick, hobbling slightly, as if with age, and all four Knights feel Kylo's anticipation curling in their bellies, fear and terror and grief all at once.

"General Organa," says Kymber Ren softly.

Leia Organa lifts her hood, rain pattering down on her face and hair. She gives Kymber a long, hard look.

Kylo can barely breathe. He can't even focus on the reactions of the Knights to seeing Leia in person. His mother. His _mother._ Her face is lined, her mouth gone thin, her dark eyes— _his_ eyes—faded to a light brown. Her hair is slate-grey, dark and light mingled together in the braids that cross over her head, and her stature is still so small, so tiny—he remembers that he'd been taller than her when he was twelve, and how small she'd seemed then. Her hands tighten on the walking-stick, and the blue veins stand out in tiny ropes across her hands.

Old hands. Wrinkled and veined, the nails still perfectly maintained as he remembers them. _Will my hands look like that one day?_

"I don't know what you're playing at," she says sharply, looking at Kymber, and her voice is rough, older, but still holds that sharp tang like brandy, sarcasm undercutting every word. "I don't know what you're playing at, or who you are, but _you_ are _not_ my son."

Kylo's breath catches in his throat. Does she mean she can see past the deception? He didn't think her Force-abilities were that strong. He doesn't know what to say, or what he _should_ say, or—

"My son is not Kylo Ren. My son doesn't parade around in a mask, or command legions of Stormtroopers. My son is Ben Organa Solo." Leia's face is trembling with emotion. "My son is a skilled pilot, like his father and his grandfather before him. My son is finally free of the thing that stole him away from his family—Snoke. My son is all I have left, if he's still in there." She points her cane at Kymber's chest. "So tell me if he's still alive. You tell me if I should hold onto hope that my son will return. If there's no hope, we'll fight to the last man against Kylo Ren, and his guards, and the entire First Order if we have to. But you have come here and not fired on our base, or launched an attack, which makes me think perhaps you've come to offer peace. So if there is hope, if you're here to broker peace and not war, you tell me now, and I'll order the Resistance to stand down. Even in light of what you did to the last Jedi, I'll stand down, and I'll speak to my son face-to-face."

Kylo's gut goes cold at the words _last Jedi._ He doesn't even have to tell Kymber to ask, because she says, "What do you mean by what I did to the last Jedi?"

Leia blinks in the rain. "She—she was found in the eastern foothills. She was badly injured, and the only word she managed to get out to anyone who asked what happened once she was put into medical was 'Kylo', according to our leading physician." Her face hardens again. "I wouldn't have believed you capable of such cruelty."

Panic chokes Kylo. _What? No. No, she was safe and whole when I left her here, she was fine, she was unharmed—_

Kymber can sense his turmoil. "I assure you, General," she says, "when Rey of Jakku was brought here, she was in good health and unhurt."

"Brought here? Who brought her here?" Leia looks suspicious.

"I did," says Kylo, and steps forward slightly. "Under orders from the Supreme Leader, my lady."

Leia gives him a long, thoughtful look, and turns back to Kymber. "And this is?"

"Kymber Ren," says Kymber Ren. "One of my loyal guard, a Knight of Ren. They do as I command, and they do not lie to me. We coordinated to bring the Jedi to you without the notice of the First Order."

"Going behind the Order's backs, huh?" Leia's mouth quirks up in a smile. "I suppose you had a good reason."

 _I can't believe it's really Leia Organa_ , Talla is gushing, almost vibrating out of her skin with barely-suppressed excitement.

 _Can you find your chill for three minutes?_ Qore is irritated. _This is important!_

"I don't answer to them, General. They answer to me. I'm the Supreme Leader, and I do as I please." Kymber sounds very much like Kylo, and he winces in the helmet with how _childish_ and idiotic it really sounds spoken out loud. "In the interest of—"

Kymber never finishes her sentence. A blaster bolt strikes her in the back, high on the right shoulder, and she jerks, gasps, and topples to the mud. Qore, Talla, and Charal instantly jerk around, weapons coming out: staff, rifle, mace.

Kylo doesn't even stop to think. He yanks his saber to his palm from Kymber's belt and ignites it, scarlet flame shot through with lightning bursting into the air, sizzling against the rain. Leia flinches in shock, stepping back. "Knights!" he bellows. "Protect the General!"

All three of them step back as one, covering Leia. There's a flurry of movement happening down by the shuttle. Another blaster bolt is shot at them, but it swings wide.

Kylo kneels by Kymber and yanks her helmet off. "Lahani," he gasps. His mask is still on, he can't risk it— "Lahani, _no_."

She blinks, her white skin splattered with rain, and smiles at him. "Hi, Ben," she says. "It was fun being you for a while, but I'm going to request to be taken off decoy duty."

Kylo rolls her to the side, checking her back—and comes up against blaster-proof armor, back and front. He yanks down the black tunic and sees the tiny, smoking hole on the armor—that never penetrated to her skin. Relief and gratitude floods him. "Thank the Force," he says.

"I'll feel that for about a week," she says, and sits up with a groan. "You're lucky Qore suggested it before we left."

"We're all the better for it," he says, cupping her cheek with a gloved hand. "If you can stand, do it, and get into position with the others."

"Yes, Master," she says, and gets to her feet unsteadily as Kylo turns toward the scuffle going on at the shuttle.

Whatever's going on down there, he has work to do.

He gathers the Force, drawing it to himself, planting his mind as deep as he can within its energy, its power, its darkness and its light.

 

* * *

 

Inside the medical bay, on a repulsorlift gurney, a bubble of flexiplast over her head and shoulders as vital signs flash across it, a young woman is lying.

Her right arm is encased in a flexpoly bacta sleeve, her head protected by another flexpoly contraption, her left hand bandaged, her body dressed in a simple white hospital gown. Her pink lips part. She takes a deep breath, so soft that the aides who are running back and forth in the room to prepare for the worst don't hear her.

"Ben," Rey whispers.

Her eyes open.


	20. the place where the light enters

Kira, Obri, Hux, and Poe emerge from the jungle just behind the black Upsilon-class shuttle. BB-8 goes very quiet and rolls to the side, and they don't need a binary translator to figure out that the little astromech is scared. They squat down behind the brush, yanking Hux down.

Obri's already got the Force back, whatever drug they'd been given metabolized quickly in her compact, high-octane system, and Kira can't help but be a little put out. "All right," Obri says softly. "I count six troopers, Phas, Yiu, and Keli. Our assassin friend has got to be out there."

Poe's reading her lips intently. _Assassin?_ he mouths, looking confused.

Kira tucks her vibroblade into her belt so she has both hands free, touches his arm, and signs while mouthing. _Resistance on other side. We have work to do here. You go home._

"Where's Kylo and the others?" Obri asks, scanning the group. "I don't see them—"

Kira's eyes find a trooper drawing his blaster unobtrusively, and she freezes. "Obri—"

Several things happen at once. Poe shouts hoarsely, and Kira's suddenly being yanked backward by her braid. Both her hands fly up to close on the thick hair, tears springing to her eyes in pain.

Neither of them had been watching Hux.

Obri turns, fury on her face, and Kira screams, "Go! Finish the—"

Hux yanks the gag down and drags Kira, struggling and kicking, by the hair into the clearing, attracting the attention of everyone standing by the shuttle. "Stand down!" he barks. "I've got her!"

Phasma draws her weapon immediately. "Hux. What is the meaning of this?"

Armitage Hux shakes Kira. "This _woman_ , she's trying to—kill the Supreme Leader—" He reaches down and snatches the vibroblade out of her belt where she'd tucked it. "See!"

"No!" screams Kira, and tries to claw at Hux's face, somewhere behind her. "Let me _go_ —"

"Phas!"

Phasma goes very still as Obri Ren emerges from the underbrush and flings her pike to the ground, both hands raised, covered in blood and mud and soaked with rain. Her jumpsuit clings to her body like a second skin. "Obri Ren?" Phasma says, sounding shocked. General Yiu and Major Keli are just staring, their blasters drawn, but unsure of what, precisely, to do.

"Phasma. He's lying to you." Obri steps forward, completely confident. "One of your men is an Amaxine warrior, paid by Hux to kill Kylo Ren. We've been tailing him for days."

"Traitors? Among _my_ ranks?" Phasma lowers her blaster and turns. "Every one of you, remove your helmets. Now."

One by one, each man takes his helmet off, and Obri's eyes fix on their man. She knows his face as intimately as her own by now. " _You_ ," she says.

The Amaxine looks her dead in the face, and faster than anyone can follow, pulls a smaller blaster, aims at Phasma with it, and fires his standard-issue weapon directly at the huge door, kilometers away—

"No, _Kylo_!" screams Kira, and Obri realizes he's fired at the Knights, at Kylo, they're far away and small but his aim is true—

The other blaster goes off. The bolt ricochets off Phasma's chromium armor, streaking wildly in the same vague direction the first one had gone, and she stalks forward and grabs the man with one hand, the other reaching into his mouth and yanking out the poison tablet he'd stowed there. "Not today," she says sternly. "Coward."

Hux backs away, still holding Kira by the hair. His eyes are mad and cold. "They're in league with the Resistance," he snarls. "There's a pilot in the jungle behind me. Poe Dameron. He led them here. They're traitors."

The Amaxine turns on Hux, struggling in Phasma's grip. "You _lied_ to us. You promised me a hundred thousand credits and safe passage, and now the others are all _dead_ —"

"Shut _up_!" Hux spits.

Phasma knocks the assassin out with a chromium-gauntleted punch to the face and stands. "I don't know what you think you're doing," she says coldly, "but you'll let that Knight go. Now."

Hux backs away. "I will not," he snarls. "You're a traitor to the Order. All of you. _All_ of you."

Kira can feel something stirring at her fingertips, something coming back to her. The Force. It's moving again, surging through her, and she can sense Kylo is coming, running to them over the flat, muddy earth.  _He's alive_ , she thinks, and sags in gratitude.

She concentrates hard, and senses Poe Dameron, deep in the bracken, watching them.

_Obri. Sign to Poe. Tell him to get ready._

Obri blinks. _For what?_

Kira's left hand goes slowly, slowly to the songsteel vibroblade concealed in her jumpsuit, the second knife Hux had forgotten all about, forgotten to take off her, so obsessed was he with _getting_ her—

Obri signs, her hands moving like flickering birds.

Hux tightens his grip on Kira's braid. "What—what are you saying to her? Stop! I order you to _stop_ —"

Kira exhales, and the second blade comes up and shears through her thick, wet hair like a hot spoon through butter, just at the top, in front of Hux's clinging hands. She lurches forward, her head curiously light, falling to her hands and knees, and Hux staggers backward, left holding nothing but a wet braid of hair like a rope.

A masked Knight comes charging through the scattering troopers, wielding Kylo's saber—but that's _Kymber Ren_ , isn't it: the gridded mask? What is she doing with _Kylo's_ blade?

"Dameron, _now!"_ Obri screams, signing at him as Kira rolls over to face Hux.

Poe Dameron leaps out of the bracken with his stick and swings it like a bat, cracking Hux across the back of the head. The man staggers, hand up as if to check what's hit him, then falls senselessly onto his face in the mud with a wet _splat._

Poe's chest heaves as he wields the stick. "Ladies," he says, looking up at Obri. "You—you both all right?"

There's an awkward silence for a moment, and Kymber Ren turns on Yiu and Keli, who both look slightly shaken. "My master sends his regards," she says.

Yiu raises his wrist and speaks into the comlink. "Fire on the base," he says calmly.

Phasma jerks around, startled. "What—"

The shuttle's massive turbolaser cannons fire, one-two. Kymber reaches up faster than light, the Force surrounding her, and the bolts…. _stop._ Crackling, trembling, frozen halfway between the cannons and the great door in the side of the mountain, two blue bolts sizzling in the rain. Yiu and Keli stare in shock, and nobody says a word.

In the ensuing dreadful silence, Phasma hands her blaster to Obri and takes her helmet off, revealing a rounded face, turned-up nose, blue eyes, and platinum blond hair. "Sir," she says politely. "I'll be more than happy to personally deliver every holorecording I have of your generals and officers engaging in conspiracy to overthrow you in a coup."

Kira's stomach goes very, very cold as Poe comes up, looking baffled, and helps her sit on the ground. "You don't look too good, Kira," he says.

"That makes two of us," she says, trying to smile and not get sick.

"Much appreciated, Captain." Kymber reaches up and removes her helmet—it's not Kymber, it's _Kylo_ , what was he—"Apologies for the deception. I felt a decoy was necessary." He's pale, sweating from the strain of tethering the bolts in place with the Force. "General. My disappointment cannot be expressed in words." Poe is staring in shock, looking as if he might run for his life, but Kira pats him on the knee. _It's all right,_ she signs.

"I did what I believed to be best for the First Order," says Yiu, his mustache trembling with emotion. "Your leadership is unstable, your philosophies are—"

"You just fired on my loyal guards. And my _mother_. As Supreme Leader," Kylo says, continuing as if he hadn't heard, "I find you guilty of conspiracy to commit murder, and sentence you to death, to be carried out now. Board that shuttle, and take that assassin with you. Immediately."

General Yiu salutes, white in the face, leaning down to drag the unconscious Amaxine by his arms. He straightens up and disappears into the Upsilon-class shuttle, his polished boots gleaming. Major Keli turns and looks up at Kylo with pleading eyes. "Sir, if you require me to join him, I will."

"What was your part in this?" he asks.

"I—intelligence on your movements." She hangs her head in shame.

"I see. No, I will not require your life today." Kylo twitches a hand, and the turbolaser bolts reverse, slamming back into the cannons and blowing the shuttle, General Yiu, the assassin, and the pilots inside to ash and scraps of metal in a fireball so hot that Obri can almost feel her skin baking.

"Th-thank you, sir," says Major Keli, her lips pale.

"As for you," says Kylo, turning to Phasma, "I'll take all the information you can give me, but right now we must deal with Hux."

"Master, the Resistance is approaching, mostly on foot," says Obri, pointing. "A lot of them."

"Ah, and the Resistance." Kylo's gaze sweeps across Obri, then Kira, then Poe Dameron. "Dameron," he says, with some restrained dislike.

"His eardrums are ruptured. He was hit by lightning," Kira explains.

Kylo comes around and squats, and Poe stiffens and the two men just look at each other. Kira's slightly self-conscious of the bare back of her neck, cold and wet in the rain.

"So who talks first," Kylo asks, allowing Poe to lip-read, "you talk first, or I talk first?"

Poe's face spreads into a grin. "Lost the mask, I see. Looks like being Supreme Leader ain't going too great, huh?"

"Let's say…a prisoner exchange," says Kylo. "You go back to the Resistance and they agree not to try to kill me. Yes?"

"Sounds like a plan to me," says Poe. He extends his hand, and Kylo hesitates, then reaches out, helping the man stand up. "You know, your spies are pretty scary."

Kira stands, stretching her aching back and enjoying the feel of the rain on her skin. Finally, it's over, and she can go get a _shower_ and some rest. Obri's stepping across Hux's prone form, Phasma's blaster in her hand, and smiling at the other woman…

There's a flurry of movement from the ground. Hux leaps to his feet, knocking Obri onto her side. He snatches the blaster, aims at Kylo and fires.

Kira flies at him with her blade and cuts him shallowly across the throat. As he shrieks, scrabbling at his neck, she brings her foot down hard on his thigh, slamming into his femoral artery and numbing his leg, and he collapses forward onto his hands. Kira swings around to his backside and hamstrings him neatly, blade nicking into the tendons in his thighs, and he howls in agony, trying to crawl forward, trying to reach his dropped blaster. "You just don't quit, do you?" she snaps.

"Can we _please_ kill him now?" Obri demands, already back on her feet. She looks to Kylo automatically for orders, but goes pale under her freckles. "Kylo? _Kylo_!"

He's sagging, curling forward, his breathing raw and ragged. Poe Dameron is trying to hold him up.

Kira hands Phasma's blaster back to her and races forward, reaching him at the same time Obri does. "Master," she gasps.

"Back," he manages. "It—hit my lung—" Obri holds him tightly as he sits forward, and they can both see the burn-hole smoking in the back of his cloak.

Kira screams for someone to bring her the medkit she'd dropped, and a trooper races forward with it. She flings it open and finds a bacta pouch and a burn-patch, tearing open the back of Kylo's tunic and pushing the liquid bacta inside the burn with trembling fingers, sealing it with the patch.

"That's not going to last for long," Poe says, watching the proceedings. "We gotta get him to medical."

" _Resistance_ medical?" Kira asks. She has a vague mental image of a cave, dark and dank and full of Light-siders waving incense sticks and chanting.

"We have a pretty good medbay inside. Major Kalonia can handle him." Poe gets to his feet. "Come on, Ren. Up we go." He pulls the taller man upright, and Kylo's gone pale, the starting stages of shock beginning to take hold.

Kira ducks under his right arm, Obi under the left. "We'll help him," she tells Poe. "It's our job. You just keep up with us."

BB-8 whistles and beeps in agreement, and they start off toward the crowd of Resistance fighters flooding the plain.

 

* * *

 

Leia's first reaction, upon finding herself stuck with four black-clad, armored warriors hell-bent on guarding her, was to stay very quiet and still.

She hadn't quite been able to see what had happened when her son was shot, but he'd gotten up after that Kymber Ren had checked on him, and then joined her other guards, but didn't speak to her again, and she had realized after a confusing moment or two that it was someone else wearing her son's mask and robes.

That hadn't been very pleasant to discover, but one of the other guards had explained that it was for her own safety, and not to worry because any minute now Kylo would be coming back and everything was going to be all right.

Oh, how she envies the innocence of the young.

Then the shuttle had fired at them, and just as the guards were throwing themselves in front of her the bolts had stopped themselves, glittering in midair, so close they could hear rain hissing off them, and just as unexpectedly had flung themselves backward, directly into the black First Order shuttle, which had exploded into a ball of orange and white flames, and elicited a surprising amount of cheers from her guard.

She hadn't even realized she'd pulled out her personal sidearm until one of them had seen it, and with great interest, instead of disarming her, had engaged in a very animated conversation about the pros and cons of the DDC Defender.

Leia was beginning to rather like these people, in spite of herself.

Now, attracted by the explosion, people were beginning to file out the great blast door, trickling onto the plain, gaping at the burning wreckage. A few had made attempts to get the Knights away from her, but she had calmly explained that they were not going to harm her and to please put that damn blaster away before someone got killed, and fairly soon she was given a wide berth by the Resistance fighters as more and more came out, blinking in the drizzling rain.

A small party is approaching. She can't quite make out the faces—her eyes are not what they used to be—but one of the Knights gasps softly, and steps closer.

"What is it?" Leia asks.

This Knight sounds rough, as if whispering harshly. "It's Kylo Ren, ma'am," the modulated voice says with some difficulty. "He appears wounded, and he's being held up by Kira Ren and Obri Ren. There's…Captain Phasma, dragging Hux, with five troopers, and I can see…a man in an orange flight suit, with a BB astromech—he looks injured."

"Poe!" Leia exclaims. "And there are _more_ of you? And what's happened to my son?"

"I'm not sure, ma'am. Let me reach out." The Knight is silent. "Ah. Kira Ren says he's been shot in the back by Hux."

"Shot in the—" Leia turns and flags down a member of the medical staff. "You go back to the medbay and tell Doctor Kalonia that we have injured men out here, and we need equipment for transporting one, now."

"Yes, General," says the orderly, and rushes back into the base.

Leia turns her attention back to the approaching party. "Are there any more people?"

"Yes, ma'am," says another Knight. "An officer. That's all I can see. I think the Resistance shot down all the Order's trooper transports." Leia feels a slight pang of regret. How many young men like Finn were lost?

"I'm going to walk out to him," she says sternly, and begins to walk, leaning on her stick, marching through the mud and the rain.

 

* * *

 

Kylo tries his hardest to straighten up as his mother approaches. They're only about a hundred meters from the massive blast doors, and Leia's robes are muddied at the hem, her cane sinking into sucking muck. _She shouldn't have had to walk this far_ , he thinks, and hates himself for his own weakness, for turning his back on his enemy. _I should have known better._

Kira shifts her grip, and burning pain shoots down his back, seizing his chest. He can feel the charred lung, and gasps for air as she mutters an apology.

They come to a halt, Leia only six feet away, flanked by the other Knights, and the entire Resistance behind her. Kylo wishes he'd kept Kymber's mask, so she wouldn't have to see the pain etched into every line of his face. He keeps his head down, unable to look at her.

"Look at me," Leia commands, and he raises his head, fixing his eyes on hers. She looks over him, and smiles, almost sadly. "You probably don't remember, but your father got his first gray hairs exactly where you have them. Started at the temples, and moved to the crown."

Grief clenches his heart. He doesn't know what to do. He doesn’t know what to say. He's not even sure he can speak: his breath is coming in wheezes, and his vision is sparking.

Phasma does it for him. "Ma'am," she says, and nods her head, stepping forward with the struggling Hux behind her. "There have been several attempts on the Supreme Leader's life in the past few weeks. A military coup was also attempted, and failed, spearheaded by this man." She flings Hux to the ground between them, as if he's nothing more than a sack of grain. "I have a recording as well, of the assassin he paid to kill the Supreme Leader admitting to it all."

"I see," says Leia. "Brendol Hux's boy, isn't it? Armitage?" She turns her attention to Phasma. "Is it your opinion, then, that the leadership of the Order is in crisis?"

Phasma hesitates, and looks at Obri, who nods, almost imperceptibly. "Yes, ma'am. I believe our goals have become…lost in a scramble for power."

"Mmm." Leia leans on her cane. "It would fall, then, to the Supreme Leader to broker peace, or even disband the Order, if he so wishes."

Even behind the pain of breathing, Kylo feels the old anger rising up again, the stubbornness. _Why does it have to be me? Why do I have to choose? Why can't I do as I please? I'm the Supreme Leader. I'm the—_

A murmur goes up from the crowd, the Resistance's heads all turning, looking back at something by the door.

Kylo draws himself up, fighting the pain, and tries to see what they're all looking at. The rain has slowed to a drizzle, and is stopping, and his hair is soaked, plastered across his forehead and into his eyes.  A figure is walking, limping unsteadily, across the plain. He can see the crowd parting, the heads turning, and the person gets closer, and closer, and the last people part and the person is standing not even twenty feet from him.

It's Rey.

She's in a white woven medical gown, she's got one arm in a sling, one hand bandaged: she's battered and bruised and she's limping and Leia is watching her in astonishment and Kylo can't breathe, can't move, can't even think. A gust of damp wind flattens the robe against her front, outlining her legs, her torso, like some ancient carved statue of a queen, and she limps painfully slowly to Kylo, her eyes fixed on his face, until she's standing right in front of him, looking up.

"You came back," she says.

Kylo Ren lets out his last breath, and Ben Solo pulls air into his scorched lungs, wrenching his arms free of his Knights' shoulders and stumbling down on his knees in front of the last Jedi, bowing his head to her, rainwater dripping off his hair.

Beside him, Kira and Obri kneel. Poe, who has a fairly clear idea of what's going on, follows suit. Then Phasma kneels, and last of all, Major Keli, white in the face and trembling, drops to her knees in the mud.

Rey reaches out with her bandaged left hand, the thumb wrapped in bio-tape and bacta, and rests it on his head. "I knew you would," she whispers, and Ben reaches up with trembling hands, clutching the fabric of her robe and burying his head in the folds.

The sun comes out, the clouds parting, and only the pain of breathing and his vision finally going pulls Ben away from Rey. 

"General Organa," he says with all the remaining strength he can muster, his voice weak and faint, "I'd like to...call truce, if that's... all right."

He sees Rey beaming, bright and sunny, and after that he's not aware of much of anything at all.


	21. a head for politics

Ben Solo opens his eyes to natural light, and winces. He hasn't seen natural sunlight in a long time: not for almost a year aboard the _Annihilation_ , and this sun in particular is bright and warm. There's a hard plastic mask over his mouth and nose, and he reaches up blindly, pulling it away.

"Good morning," says a voice off to his left. He turns his head to find the speaker and focuses with some difficulty on a woman he doesn't recognize at first, a woman in mustard-colored transport coveralls with the sleeves rolled up. Her hair is dark, shorn in a glossy cap covering her head. She has a long, graceful neck, and Ben squints to see her face. Dark eyes, dark circles beneath.

Oh. "Kira," he says hoarsely, and attempts to sit up. "Rey—where's—"

"Lie down before you kill yourself," she says brusquely, one hand pushing him back down. "Rey is fine. Look to your right."

He turns his head, and there she is: lying on a gurney, fresh bacta polyflex on her arms and hand and head. She's sleeping, her chest rising and falling with every breath.

"There. She's alive. Relax." Kira tucks a loose strand of black hair back out of his face. "You've had a rough night."

"Night?" Ben swallows. "How long—what—"

Kira shakes her head. "Shh. You passed out on the field. Fortunately medical had arrived, so it was just a few moments before we got you loaded on and carted off. Qore carried Rey back; she shouldn't have been up at all and she was exhausted. Your left lung was a bit of a mess. Had to be regrown with some touch-and-go bacta application, a healing field, and a regenerator—Kalonia says you're very lucky you didn't need pulmonodes, because she doesn't have any here."

"The Knights?"

"We've been taking turns watching you." Kira sits back. "After we all got showered and ate something, of course. You wouldn't believe the amount of blood in my clothes." She holds out an arm. "This was the only thing big enough they could find to fit me and Kymber. Everyone else is in borrowed odds and ends while we wait for someone to get our things from the _Annihilation_."

Ben tries to sit up again, and she shoves him back to the gurney. "I said, lie _down_. You're on oxygen for a reason, you moof-milker."

He lets her put the mask back on his face. "My mother," he says.

She sits back. "General Organa is currently holding council in the war room with Captain Phasma and the very few superior officers who were _not_ involved in trying to murder you. That boy—the defected trooper they have here, what's his name?"

Ben nearly says, "FN-2187" but stops himself. "Finn," he says instead. "And I think he's over twenty."

"Right. Finn. Sorry. I guess I'm getting old; everyone younger than me looks like a baby. He's been in there, working as a sort of mediator. He's not good at politics, but he's very good at talking common sense." She sighs. "What else. Oh. Hux is under lock and key in a holding cell, awaiting your justice. The assassin managed to off himself in the confusion, but we already have the proof there was a conspiracy, so a lot of good that did him. Dameron's over there." Kira points, and Ben follows her finger over to the opposite side of the room, where Poe is coated in a polyflex suit on a gurney, either unconscious or asleep. "They think he'll make a full recovery. And…Talla is supposed to come in here and take over in a few minutes."

Ben's eyes begin to water a little. "You did good work," he says. "All of you. But especially you and Obri." He shoots her a look. "I'm sorry about your hair," he says awkwardly.

"Hair grows back," says Kira, shrugging; but something in the set of her jaw tells Kylo she's not too pleased about it. "Which reminds me. I have something for you." She fumbles in her pocket and comes up with a long, thin braid of hair, chestnut brown, glossy, tied off with red and blue thread at one end and a silver band at the other.

He recognizes it at once. "That's your learner's braid," he says.

"Yes. I kept it all these years. As a reminder of what I had left behind, who I was. Sentimental, I suppose." Kira coils the braid around her hand. "I want you to keep it."

He can't very well say no, and her thin hand presses the coil into his palm, then closes his fingers around it. "I'll remember every time I see it what you've all done for me," Ben says. "And I hope—I hope I never take your loyalty or your friendship for granted."

Kira snorts. "No, you'd better not." The far door slips open, and Talla comes through, half-skipping, wearing a shirt several sizes too big and a pair of pants just a little too small.

"Hi, Kira! Oh, he's awake!" She leans into his face with a smile. "How are you feeling, Master?"

"Give him some _space_ ," Kira says, standing up. "And don't wake up Rey, or Kalonia will lose her mind."

"Noted," Talla chirps, and settles down in Kira's chair as the other woman heads out. "Don't worry, Master, I'll be quiet. You won't even know I'm here. Did you know that your mother is a total _badass_?"

Not even Talla's stream of excited chatter can keep Ben awake. He nods, his eyes slipping shut, and drifts back off into dreams of sunlight.

 

* * *

 

"Hey. Rey. You awake?"

Rey wrinkles her nose and opens one eye, then both pop open in astonishment and delight. "Finn!"

"Hey!" He beams above her, and she sits up, fighting the wave of dizziness for a hug. "I thought you were in there."

"How long have I been asleep?" She rubs her eyes as she pulls away from Finn's solid embrace: vague memories of stumbling outside in the rain come to mind.

"You were out for almost two days," Finn says. "Kalonia induced a coma until you could heal. Let's see the hand." He extends his, and she puts her hand into it, gnawing on her lip as he unwraps the biotape.

Her thumbnail is whole again, all her scrapes gone. "Look at that," he says, grinning.

"Move aside, if you please," says Kalonia, bustling up with a datapad. "Rey, if you'd look here—" She flashes a few lights into Rey's eyes, asks her a barrage of questions about how she feels, and examines her head to be sure. "All right. You're cleared. General Organa would like to see you at your earliest convenience."

Rey swings her legs out to the side and stretches, automatically glancing at the empty cot beside her. "Ben—" She hesitates, and looks at Kalonia. "Kylo was here, wasn't he? I thought—I thought I might be dreaming, but—"

"Oh, yes, he was," Kalonia says. "The Supreme Leader was cleared to leave almost ten hours ago."

"Leave?" Rey grips the edge of the gurney. "Leave and go where?" _He can't have left me, he can't!_

"To the war room. Leia asked he be present during the negotiations." Kalonia looks down at her datapad, giving Rey a moment to collect herself.

"You want me to take you there?" asks Finn. "I was dismissed a few minutes ago to check on your status anyway, so we can head back whenever."

"Right," says Rey, collecting herself. "Right. I need clothes." She indicated the white hospital robe. "This won't look great."

Finn grins. "Right. Here." He hands her a folded stack of clothing. "These are clean. The clothes they found you in were too messed up to salvage."

Rey unfolds a collared shirt, a pair of high-waisted trousers, a belt, a clean set of basics, and to her great surprise her high leather boots, thick-soled and back-laced, the pair she had left behind in her locker on the day she'd taken her fateful flight into the bowels of the _Annihilation_. "Thank you," she says softly, turning them in her hands. Last, but not least: her lightsaber.

Finn stands. "I'll leave you to get dressed. Meet you in the corridor."

 

* * *

 

Fully dressed, she joins Finn outside and walks with him down the twisting tunnels. "They're saying you had some kind of Force-trance when you walked outside," he tells her as they follow the turns. "Everyone watched Ren kneel in front of you. I thought he was going to keel over."

"I don't know what I had," she says. "I remember…feeling like I was awake, really awake, and I walked outside…and I saw Leia, and the Knights, and—Ben. He was hurt. I could sense—I could sense conflict within him, and then it was gone, like a storm passing. After that…nothing."

"You almost passed out after he did. We had to load him onto a gurney and one of those knights of his carried you back inside." Finn smiles, shaking his head. "I've never seen Phasma _totally_ at a loss for words."

"But, Finn—" Rey stops in her tracks. "What _happened_?"

Finn lets out a deep breath. "Right. You'll probably be briefed in the war room, but the gist of it is that the First Order leadership—his generals, Hux, almost everyone—wanted to kill Ren and take over in some kind of coup—said his leadership was rotten. Captain Phasma was working behind the scenes to gather proof with one of the Knights of Ren—still not sure how that's a thing—anyway, a lot of stuff happened, but Ren's calling truce and trying to work out a solution to the war."

Rey blinks. "Oh. Okay."

"And, Rey—" Finn hesitates. "I just want to make sure Ren didn't hurt you while you were being held prisoner. I know what the Order does to people—"

"Oh, Force," says Rey. "No, Finn—he didn't hurt me."

"You're sure? Because Poe and I will _absolutely_ kick his ass—not that you need us to do said ass-kicking, but—"

Rey snorts. "He was…hospitable," she tells Finn. "He tried to be… _kind_ to me even though Hux was hell-bent on having me tortured for information. That's probably half of why the brass was so angry about his leadership." _Hospitable. That's a word for it._ She fights the sudden memory of Ben's head between her legs. _Keep it together, Rey._

"Well, they're throwing around ideas in there." Finn starts to walk again, and she hurries to keep up. "I've heard everything from putting Ren into exile, to disbanding both the Resistance and the Order, to merging the Resistance and the Order, to trying to come up with ideas to forge an alliance of some kind, and it's only been three days. So, they're looking forward to some Jedi insight, I guess."

"Great," says Rey, and the two of them come to a halt in front of the war room doors. "No pressure."

Finn takes her hand and tucks it into the crook of his arm. "You got this," he says.

Rey squeezes his arm. "Don't let go of me," she whispers. "I might pass out."

The doors swing open, and the first thing Rey sees is a sudden movement from across the table. Her eyes track over, and it's Ben, jerking to his feet so quickly upon her entrance he's almost knocked the chair over, his eyes fixed on her as she enters the room. She flushes and looks down quickly. Everyone else but Leia follows suit, standing respectfully for the entrance of the last Jedi, and Rey awkwardly maneuvers into a seat opposite Ben, Finn helping her and stepping back with his hands clasped.

She's afraid to look at Ben. She has no idea what she's going to find in his face: this new man who isn't Kylo Ren. Is he the same as she'd thought he'd be? The same person she'd desperately hoped to pull out of the fragmented man he'd become? She can sense tension, filling his whole body: clearly he's not happy, and she resolves to give him some space. Nothing about this can be easy for him.

"Rey," says Leia gently as everyone sits, Ben the last of them, "thank you for joining us. I hope your recovery went well."

Rey looks up quickly, taking in the table: on one side sits the Supreme Leader, wearing a borrowed dark gray shirt and a dusty-looking canvas jacket with too-short sleeves, flanked by Qore and Charal (Qore smiles at Rey, and she returns the gesture); Major Keli, her strong-boned face set in clear resolve and her charcoal-colored uniform a bit mussed; a few officers Rey doesn't know; and a very tall, muscular woman with pale blond hair and blue eyes wearing a black, long-sleeved knit-mesh bodyglove and black pants, who she assumes must be Captain Phasma. On the other side of the table sit Leia, Rey, Lt. Connix, Commander D'Acy, Captain Namit, and Major Cicer: all impeccable in their uniforms, all looking equally as resolute as the Order representatives.

"Of course, General," says Rey. "And I'm feeling much better, thanks to Doctor Kalonia."

"Good. Now, perhaps you have some ideas that might propel us forward out of the position we find ourselves locked into." Leia leans forward. "Finn, if you please?"

Finn steps forward, the closest thing they have to a mediator, and picks up the datapad on the table. "Right. The Resistance would like some kind of recompense paid out by the Order for the destruction of the Hosnian system. The Order is willing to hand over Armitage Hux to the authority of the New Republic, but the Resistance protests, saying that the New Republic is fragmented and unstable in the aftermath of the afore-mentioned attack and that Hux would receive no justice for decades, locked into litigation. They would prefer monetary compensation to the worlds affected—an amount in the hundreds of trillions of credits, which the Order claims it cannot afford."

Rey considers that for a moment. She can feel the eyes of nearly everyone in the room on her, and wonders for a moment if it would be too much for the floor to perhaps open beneath her.

"Permission to speak," says one of the First Order officers Rey doesn't know: an older man with a creased face and severe, gray hair combed to the side.

"Permission granted, General Crane," says Leia.

Crane stands and indicates Rey. "This girl, according to our intelligence, is responsible for the murder of Supreme Leader Snoke. As such, I would like to formally request she be extradited to the _Annihilation_ and put on trial for—"

"No," says Ben, in a voice gone very hard and cold. "She did not kill Snoke."

Crane looks baffled. "But, sir—"

Ben stands, and Rey lets herself look at him, really look at him: he looks more refreshed than she's ever seen him, the dark circles beneath his eyes faded, his eyes clear and bright and focused on Crane with an intensity that suggests he's trying very hard not to look at her. His jaw clenches. "Perhaps I was not clear, General. This woman did not kill Supreme Leader Snoke. That was a lie I told Hux. She willingly put herself in the hands of the First Order out of hope that I would reject it. She came aboard the _Supremacy_ and was subjected to torture at the hands of Snoke, witnessed by myself and the Praetorian Guards. Snoke demanded I kill her. I feigned obedience until the last moment, and—and then I—"

"You killed Snoke," interrupts Charal, sounding as if it's an entirely normal turn of events.

"I—what? You—"Ben turns, sounding shocked.

"We all know," says Qore, her voice raspy. "It's fine. Like I told Kira, he was a nasty piece of work who got what he deserved."

" _Kira_?" Realization breaks over Ben's face. "How long ago did you—"

"Probably a few weeks ago," says Charal.

Ben processes that for a moment, then turns back to General Crane, who looks like he's been smacked across the face with a blunt object. "As I was saying," he says, regaining some composure, "any attempt on this woman's life or safety will be met with opposition from me. _Extreme_ opposition, General."

Crane takes a good look at the Supreme Leader's face, and sinks back down to his seat, wisely shutting his mouth. "Yes, sir," he says. Ben waits until he's seated, then takes his seat again.

Rey stares at the table and tries to keep herself together.

"Well, now that that's settled," says Leia. "Back to the question originally posited—"

"Territories," says Rey, and everyone turns to look at her. "The Order controls the Atterra system in the Outer Rim, doesn't it? You've been dealing with insurgents there for years."

"Yes, ma'am," says Major Keli.

"Well. Then you'll pull out your troops and withdraw from the system as a good-faith exchange, and the system can become a home for displaced Hosnians. You may not be able to afford trillions, but perhaps several hundred million credits can go toward the New Republic for the purpose of improved infrastructure and general welfare of the people living there."

General Crane leans over to Major Keli and the other officers, exchanging quick words, then looks at Ben. "This is suitable as a compromise," he says stiffly. "If the Supreme Leader is willing, we will concede the Atterra system."

"I am." Ben nods.

"Excellent." Leia motions, and Connix notes it down on her datapad. "Now, the question of what to do with Armitage Hux…"

"As Supreme Leader," says Ben, "he is still under my authority. He harmed my Knights and made no less than three attempts on my life. I will deal with Hux."

"Right," says Finn, after an awkward silence. "So. Next question. Demilitarization of the Order…"

 

* * *

 

It's hours later when they call for a recess, and Rey feels like her head is about to fall off from exhaustion. She follows Finn out into the hall to scrounge up a cup of caf and some food, pretending she can't sense Ben's eyes following her.

"Man, he will _not_ stop staring at you," Finn grouses.

"Where's Poe?" Rey asks, trying to change the subject.

"Still recovering. Leia'll have him in later when we get around to discussing personnel matters." Finn gives Rey a sideways look. "If I didn't know better, I'd think Ren has a crush on you."

Rey's cheeks flame. " _Finn_ ," she hisses.

"A really _weird_ crush," he blithely continues. "Or maybe that's just how he expresses affection, by staring like a weirdo and jumping out of chairs. Does he even know how to _show_ affection? Or is it just, like—" Finn mimics Ben's face, pulling his mouth into a scowl. "'Grr, Rey, you're so _cool_ and kicked my _ass,_ I must fall at your feet and—"

Rey chokes on a hysterical giggle and drags him aside into a niche in the wall. " _Finn_! He's _trying_ , and he's really stressed out, give him some credit—"

"He sliced my back open like a roast nerf, in case you forgot," Finn says. "I don't trust that guy as far as I could kick him."

"Yeah, and you were a _Stormtrooper_." She puts her hands on his chest. "If you can break out of your training, so can he. Just give him the benefit of—"

"Hope we're not interrupting," says Kira, and Rey jumps about a foot.

"Kira! Kymber!" She lets go of Finn and beams at her and at Kymber, who offers a smile. Both of the women are in transport jumpsuits and armed to the teeth. "What are you doing out here?"

"The Supreme Leader asked that we stay close to you when you're not in negotiations. He doesn't exactly trust any of the Order officers to _not_ jump you in a tunnel and have you back en route to the _Annihilation_ faster than you can say 'Tattooine'," explains Kymber.

"Hey, I've got the guarding thing down just fine, thank you," says Finn, crossing his arms.

"Kira," stage-whispers Kymber, "I think that man's trying to say his Stormtrooper training makes him a better guard than _us_."

"You know, I think you're right," says Kira.

"Oh, right, very funny," says Finn, irritated.

Rey rolls her eyes. "Stop comparing blaster sizes and let's go find some food. I'm starving."

 

* * *

 

Ben pushes his empty tray away and rubs his hands through his hair, letting them cover his face. It's pleasantly dark behind his fingers, and he exhales, trying to focus.

The negotiations had progressed much faster after Rey had arrived and joined in the discussion. He can't deny that, and he's surprised at how quickly she picked up on the politics—though he can put the bulk of that explanation on Chandar Voss and the holobook she'd devoured, then the others on current events he'd brought her or had sent to her cell.

What he _isn't_ surprised at is that she'd come in on Finn's arm, as if clinging to the man for balance, and then refused to even look at him during the majority of the discussion, preferring to look at his mother, or the table, or whoever was speaking that wasn't him. Of course she'd fled back to the embrace of good people, good friends: her flippant comment about _when I get out of here and find a nice person to settle down with_ stings in his memory like salt in a wound. He hasn't seen Dameron yet—the man's apparently still in recovery—but he wouldn't be shocked if Rey had sought him out at some point. Probably after he'd left: after all, they'd been in the same room together.

His imagination floods with images he can't stop, one after the other: Rey sitting at Poe Dameron's bedside, her hands stroking his hair tenderly: Rey cupping Dameron's face in her hands, saying soft and gentle things about how _glad_ she is that he's all right; Rey pressing her mouth to Dameron's, hands tracking across his body. Limbs entwined, sweating, gleaming lithe and sun-tanned, Dameron's muscular back heaving over Rey's body, stop, _stop—_

Ben drives the images from his mind with an effort and struggles to center himself. _You have no right to her,_ says his rational mind; something far more primal and ugly and possessive screams _mine, she is mine and no one will take her from me!_

Kymber brushes against his mind, and he lets her in. _Master, we've found Rey. She was with Finn. Going to get food._

With Finn. _With Finn?_ He probes, and Kymber readily releases her memory to him: Rey and Finn in a small alcove off a hall, Rey's hands on the man's chest as she leans in, saying something urgent before their presence startles her and she turns, smiling.

With Finn.

Another set of images assails him: Rey's hands on Finn's shirt, locked in an embrace, his arms creeping beneath her shirt, no, stop it, _stop_ , he demands of his mind.

He'd barely been able to tear his eyes away when she'd turned to leave the war room, the high-waisted pants nipping in her waist, making her backside look impossibly lush and round: Charal had repressed a little jolt of longing, likely for his benefit, and he'd had to mask the physical evidence of his own desire for a moment, awkwardly sitting at the table until he was able to stand without disgracing himself. He'd never envied women before: it must be so convenient to have things happen _internally—_

 _Not really,_ says Obri, a tinge of amusement in her tone. _But…at the same time, I suppose, in comparison—_

Ben groans. _Can you give me some privacy for five minutes?_

 _Sorry, sorry._ She tunes out, and he's blessedly alone in his own mind, walls up, impenetrable.

Ben sinks back into his morose thoughts, and remains like that until someone comes to alert him that they've reconvened the negotiations.


	22. salt and sweetness and iron

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> BACK TO THE E RATING, FOLKS. Mind the tags. Ya been warn't.

It takes another week for assorted senators, representatives, delegations, HoloNet journalists, and reporters to show up, landing their shuttles and transports outside the Resistance base and trudging in, some bright-eyed and eager, others reserved and dignified, to do what Leia calls "provide valuable input" and what nearly everyone else privately calls "interfere".

Poe gets out of medical and resorts to cutting his hair short on both sides, joking that he didn't need it anyway. Kalonia tells him the burned follicles have healed perfectly well with bacta, but he enjoys the conversation starter of a new haircut, along with his restored hearing. He and Kira Ren rib each other about their respective makeovers in the canteen.

Rey is quartered with Rose and Connix in a small, private dormitory that's designed to sleep one officer. They cram sleeping pads on the floor, side by side. Kymber and Kira Ren stay with Rey at every moment that she's not in the war room, helping negotiate: a situation that plenty of the Resistance scratch their heads at, since Kira and Kymber have already made quite a name for themselves as two of Kylo Ren's loyal servants of the Dark Side. Rey makes sure she's seen often in public spaces with them, and the whispers gradually die down.

Ben is given a room on the other side of the base, in another officer's dormitory. There's not enough space for the four Knights to have separate quarters, and they won't leave him anyway, so they pack in like sardines: Talla, Obri, Qore, and Charal, sleeping at his two sides, his head, and his feet.

 

* * *

 

Charal, escorting Ben, opens the door of their room one day and they're both treated to a full view of Obri, Talla, and Phasma _in flagrante delicito,_ a heaving pile of bodies on the floor in various stages of dress.

" _Obri_!" snaps Ben, and she scrambles to her feet, wiping her mouth. Phasma jerks her legs together and snatches her woven black shirt up to her chest to cover herself, giving Kylo a lingering glance at powerful thighs and pale blond hair he really, _really_ could have lived the rest his life without seeing. Talla, shameless as always, rolls over onto her back and groans deeply at the interruption, her navy-tipped breasts heaving.

"Sir," says Obri, red to her breastbone. Everyone in the room, with the exception, perhaps, of Phasma, can taste the tension and the desperate need to just _get off_ : The lack of privacy and constant contact is absolutely killing every single one of them.

Ben closes his eyes. "You may have private use of the room between 1200 and 1400. Don't ever let me walk in on you again."

"Yes, Master," Obri says. "Thank you."

"And clean those sleeping pads," he adds, and she nods before he turns around and shuts the door behind them. "I've changed my mind. We'll have lunch in the canteen," he tells Charal.

"Yes, Master," she says, red to the throat.

 

* * *

 

Rey sees Ben a few isolated times in the canteen, but he never looks at her or makes an effort to speak to her at all. He keeps his distance, and he keeps his walls up, blocking her from looking at his mind.

 _What's wrong?_ she wants to scream at him sometimes. _What's the matter with me? Have I done something wrong? Why won't you look at me?_ Asking Kymber is a fruitless endeavor: Kymber understands what she can sense from Kylo only at face value, and after several attempts which go rather along the lines of "he feels conflicted, very strongly, and he wants a lot of very strange things I'm not sure I should describe to you that contradict each other" Rey gives up.

She tries Kira, but Kira only shakes her head. "He's trying not to become distracted," she tells her. "To clear his mind and focus on the task at hand. Try to do the same."

So Rey goes to the negotiations, and learns to avoid questions from the HoloNet reporters, and masters the art of sitting very serenely with a calm look on her face, and she does her best to ignore Ben unless he's directly asking her a question, which rarely happens, because he's apparently trying to do his best to ignore _her,_ or indeed anyone else but Leia and the Knights of Ren _._ She suggests solutions for the re-establishing of the Senate, she argues with General Crane, she deflects dead-end arguments: in short, she tries her best to do her best.

At night, holding her breath so as not to wake Rose or Kaydel, she grinds her hands against herself, desperate to find release. She imagines Ben, every night: her hands play the part of his head between her legs, his impossibly huge fingers, his hands, his body. Sometimes, it works, and she shudders out a warm climax before dropping off to sleep. Sometimes it doesn't, and she lies on her back all night, sweating in the oppressive heat, until the 0600 bells chime and they all have to get up for the next inevitable day of peace talks.

Doing the right thing, she considers as she trudges down the tunnels after one such sleepless night, is so, so much harder than it should be.

 

* * *

 

Ben Solo finds no relief.

Ben Solo lies on his back in the mornings, staring at the duracrete ceiling and desperately hoping his morning erection fades before any of his Knights wake up.

Ben Solo is rapidly beginning to wish he was anywhere else but on this planet.

 

* * *

 

"So," says Leia, laying down the datapad holding the first draft of the treaty, "I'd like everyone to hear what this has to say, and then we can get started on tweaking things."

C-3PO, the ever-present protocol droid, shuffles forward and begins to recite what they're calling the Treaty of the Galactic Republic Alliance as Holonet reporters snap stills and hold out mics, assorted First Order officers and senatorial personnel and aides crowding the table to hear.

The terms are as follows: the Order and the Resistance will join together into a single militarized force, the New Galactic Military, answerable to the Senate. The Order will hand all its colonized territories and planets over to the New Republic, relinquishing its powers as a state power completely. All ships larger than a Star Destroyer will be destroyed, along with all plans for superweapons in any First Order archives, and only ten Star Destroyers will be left in commission, rebranded into the New Galactic Military. The Senate will be re-established on Coruscant, with equal representation for all planetary systems, with humanitarian outreach, welfare of its citizens, and the abolition of both slavery and bureaucratic corruption paramount in its goals.

In exchange, the officers and troopers of the First Order will be given immunity: allowed to leave the organization, with ten years' wages, to live on whatever planet they choose to begin a new life, or they will be welcomed into the Resistance after evaluations. Most of the remaining officers are young men and women, people raised into the ideology since children; those who have known nothing else. Finn will act as Trooper Liaison, working to de-program Stormtroopers and help them acclimate to the world outside the Order.

"And…the Supreme Leader," says C-3PO, blinking his photoreceptors, "will administer justice to those who attempted the coup, including Colonel Armitage Hux."

"Does the Supreme Leader intend to continue acting as head of the military?" asks a senator from Chandrila, her red cloak standing out among the military drab.

Ben doesn't respond. He's so, so tired. He's burned out. It's been almost a month of negotiations on this humid, hot, awful jungle world, and he has barely spoken to anyone besides his Knights and his mother, unless it's to shout down an idiotic suggestion at the table. Continue acting as head of the military? Of course there will be power with such a position; wealth, a constant stream of people trying to ingratiate themselves to his favor, luxury, anything he wants.

He can't think of anything he wants less.

"I do not," he says, and a whisper goes up from the audience. "I will hand all military power over to General Organa, and defer to her experience."

Leia looks shocked, but her face creases into a smile. "Thank you, Ben," she says softly, and looks down at the datapad. "I would like to nominate Commander Larma D'Acy as head of the New Galactic Military. She comes from a highly regarded military family, and has decades of experience. There's no one else I trust more."

D'Acy looks shocked, and steps forward. "I accept your nomination," she says, setting her chin. "And I'm extremely honored."

"I second the motion," says Ben, if out of nothing else than a desire to get to sleep before 0100 in the morning.

"Shall anyone carry?" Connix asks, and looks around.

Poe Dameron, just behind Leia, raises a hand. "I third."

"Motion is carried." Connix taps it in.

"If we are all in agreement, I suggest we should sign the treaty—when it's finalized, of course— live on the HoloNet on Coruscant," Leia suggests.

"I agree," says Rey, from her seat across the table. "The galaxy should see that we are all in accord, and that we are working together for a common goal."

"We might have a gala," suggests D'Acy. "A thousand credits for admission to witness the signing. Proceeds could go toward outreach programs and re-settlement."

"That's a very good idea," says Leia, as Connix types furiously. "Let's shelve that for the next meeting. Well. If we have an accord, I call for a recess, and there should be no need to reconvene tomorrow morning. You will be alerted if any new developments take place. Thank you, ladies and gentlemen."

There's loud applause as she stands, and Ben gets to his feet, intent on being literally anywhere but in this room for one kriffing second longer than he absolutely needs to. He pastes on the polite mask of a face to get past the HoloNet reporters asking questions and shouting, Talla and Charal pushing people to make way for him, and finally manages to make his way into the quiet hall without strangling someone out of sheer rage.

"Well, I thought that went well," says Charal. "Good stopping point for now."

Talla nods. "At least that idiotic delegation from the Hapes Cluster didn't get in a word today about how they want all the Force-sensitive people involved on both sides removed from the—"

Ben freezes. Up ahead, walking with Poe Dameron and that engineer Rose Tico, he can see Rey: her dark hair swaying, the simple, dark clothing she's chosen to wear every day for the last few weeks rustling slightly as she moves. The set of her head, turned in laughter at something Rose is saying. Something clenches around his heart.

"Rey?" he calls. He hadn't meant it to sound so harsh, like he'd barked at her, but there's no help for it. She goes very still, Rose and Poe glancing back.

"Go on," she says, nodding at them. "I'll meet you in the canteen."

Talla and Charal don't need to be told twice, but they move on, a few meters behind Poe and Rose.

Ben waits. People walk past him, around him, around them both, and they remain in place like two rocks in a river, until the last person is gone and they're alone under the golden glowlamps that light the tunnels. He can barely breathe.

He takes a step forward, and she turns to him, her face cautious, almost wary.

"I—" Ben hesitates. "I didn't mean to shout like that."

"Oh," Rey says, and her face relaxes minutely. "I thought…I thought you were upset. You've been so tense the past few weeks. I thought it was better to leave you alone."

"Leave me—" He cuts himself off, staring at her. "Oh. I thought you were avoiding me."

Rey turns pink. "Well—it's just awkward, you know; everyone saw you kneel to me and last week I heard a delegation from Corellia talking about—about how a political wedding might solidify the treaty, and I don't—I don't want people to think—"

"That you—that we're—" Ben can barely get the words out; he feels about an inch tall and absolutely crushed. "You don't want people to think that we're… involved."

"I—what?" Rey looks shocked. "But—we're not. We haven't been since—since—" Rey goes scarlet and presses her lips together. "Since. You know. And—and how would it look if someone found out that the Resistance's Jedi had, had, _did things_ with the Supreme Leader of the First Order? Someone would claim it was a dishonest alliance, or a treaty built on nothing but emotions, someone else would claim that we should get married to make it stronger—"

"I don't want to talk about the damned treaty, or politics, or the Resistance, or the First Order," he says. "I want to talk about what _you_ want."

"What I want?" she echoes, stunned. "Well—I thought I'd stay with the Resistance, but maybe I'll help Leia in the new Senate. She says I have a knack for arguing. What are _you_ going to do once the treaty is signed? You said you wouldn't be Supreme Leader anymore."

Ben steps closer to her so that she has to look up into his face. "First," he says in Kylo Ren's even, dark voice, "I'd like to put Hux and every other murderous traitor in the Order I can find onto the _Annihilation_ , and order the destruction of the ship once they're all on board."

"Ah," she says, her pupils slightly dilated.

"After that, I'll attend the signing ceremony, and sit around for exactly as long as I have to and not a second longer. I have no earthly idea what I want to do with the rest of my life. Maybe I'll crawl on my knees and beg Dameron to let me be a Resistance pilot. Maybe I'll kark off and go be a hermit somewhere. Maybe I'll get into politics and give my mother something to actually be proud of. I don't _know._ But if I have to do any of it without—" his voice chokes off slightly, and he fights the urge to cry: idiot, _idiot_. "I'm sorry," he manages to choke out. "I shouldn't—"

"No. Tell me." Rey looks very intent, studying his face. "Please."

He swallows hard. "You told me you loved me," he tells her, and there: it's out between them, a thing hanging in the air to be struck down or to be snatched and held close.

"Yes," she says simply.

"And do you still—is that still true?"

Rey tilts her chin up and looks him in the eyes. "Yes," she whispers. "I—I think so."

Ben doesn't realize his hands are trembling, and clenches them into fists at his sides. "You think so," he echoes.

"I—" Rey's eyes flicker across him. "You've done it. Ben. You've ended the war. You've come _home_. And I thought that was all I wanted, but—it's not. I want—more. And I know it's not right, I know I shouldn't demand more of you—not when you've done so much already, and you're trying to focus on, on, you know, the politics and the treaty—not to mention I shouldn't feel the way I do about you, I _shouldn't_ , but I do. I just do."

"And how do you feel about me?" he asks, his heart somewhere in his throat. "What more do you want of me?"

Rey shakes her head. "What do you want of _me_?" she asks.

Ben can't stop himself. "I want all of you," he tells her. "All of you. Always. It's always been you. All of this—you must know all of this was for _you_ , Rey."

"You stopped a war for me," Rey whispers.

"Yes. Anything. Anything for you." He wants to grab her shoulders, hold her close, but he can't move, can't bring himself to touch her.

Rey's lips are parted, and she's just staring at him, eyes wide. He counts three breaths, and before he knows what's happening she's grabbed him by the collar and she's almost climbing up him, her arms around his neck, her mouth on his and her lips are slanting over his and oh, she's warm and soft and tastes of salt and sweetness, and he's grabbing her back, his hands on her waist, slipping into her hair, everywhere and nowhere at once.

"Ben," she's gasping between kisses. " _Ben_ —" His hands slip down and find her backside, and she arches her back, pressing her body to his, fumbling with his jacket. "Do you know—how often—I touched myself—to _remembering_ —your _mouth—_ "

And that, _that_ stokes the blossoming, desperate need deep in his chest; sends him into a frenzy. "I'm going to kill everyone who ever laid a finger on you," he rasps, yanking her to him, and she stares up at him, swollen lips and bright eyes. "One day. But right now, I don't care if the whole fucking _galaxy_ can see; I'm taking you on the first. Surface. I. Find."

She _whimpers._

Ben lifts her up and slams the nearest door wide open with the Force. It's a utility closet with a bolted-down table for repair work, and four custodians leap to their feet, startled and shocked at the sight of the Supreme Leader, wild-eyed and flushed, gripping their Jedi to his chest with one arm, Rey clinging to him like a ysalamir to an Olbio tree.

" _GET OUT!_ " he bellows, and they don't need to be told twice, racing out for dear life. One of them slams the door shut behind him, and the interior glowlamps flick on as Ben shoves everything off the table and sets Rey on it, frantically fumbling with his pants as Rey yanks hers down and off, her tunic slipping open, off her shoulder.

"I _need_ you," she gasps, and it almost destroys him, right then and there. Ben's hands slip past her navel and his finger delves past her soft curls, into the warmth and the wetness of her body. She barely resists him, moaning as he slips in another finger, her breath coming tight, fast, shallow. "Ben, _please_ —"

She's more than slick enough. He withdraws his fingers, reaching into his basics and pulling out his cock. "If anyone," he growls, lining himself up to her body, "comes into this room, I am going to _kill them_ —"

Rey grips his hips and tilts hers, trembling. "Don't be gentle," she begs. " _Please—"_

Ben pushes deep into her and almost sobs with how _good_ it is, how _good_ she is: lush and hot and snug around his cock, and he was so, so wrong; she's about a _billion_ times better than his hand, and it doesn't _end_ , her body stretching to fit him, on and on and on until he's bottomed out, trembling against her body, her soft hair falling around his shoulders as she leans into him, forehead to forehead, her thighs shaking.

"Big," she gasps, her fingers digging into his shirt. "Give me. A moment."

 _Yes,_ he wants to say, _yes, anything, anything. I'll give you anything you want as long as you don't move: don't push me away, don't be afraid of me._ But he can't speak at the moment, so he nods instead, and Rey breathes, trying to get used to this strange and new intrusion in her body, and Ben thinks of all the most boring, dry historical facts he possibly can so that he doesn't explode out of sheer frustration.

_Around 4000 BBY, the Jedi Temple was constructed on the planet Coruscant by the Four Masters atop the site of an ancient Sith shrine._

Rey is moving a little now, rocking back and forth experimentally, soft noises squeaking out of her throat.

_In 3966 BBY, Galactic travelers first navigated hyperspace using hyperspace sextants._

Rey moves a little further, and the slick pull and push of her body against his nearly forces his knees to give out, but he grips her by the hips and desperately tries to remain upright.

_The Sith were defeated and driven into hiding by the Jedi in the year 1032 BBY._

"You can—" She is flushed, trembling against his body, her fingers tangled in his hair and his jacket. "You can move now."

He doesn't need to be told again. Ben pulls her toward him and drives into her, and she lets out a guttural noise that stokes something horribly primeval, something dark and desperate and ugly deep inside his chest, and this angle won't do at _all_ , he can't touch her enough—

Ben pulls her forward, their bodies still locked together. He doesn't know how he gets to the floor, still buried in her, but he does, rolling her under him and driving in deeply, his left foot scrabbling for purchase against the duracrete. He wants his jacket off, but he can't stand to let go of her shoulders, and her hands are on his bare waist, under the shirt: her touch like fire on his skin. "Rey," he moans, and thrusts his hips again, sliding her several inches across the floor. " _Rey_."

She's got both arms under the back of his shirt, clinging to him tightly and shouting with every thrust, her hair tangled around her face, spread across the floor, and she's beautiful, so beautiful that he doesn't care that they're both still half-dressed, or that his arms are aching, or—

Something stirs at the walls of his mind, and he realizes it's a nascent climax, but not _his_ : this feels entirely different, yet familiar somehow and he recognizes it—Rey's.

He lets her in, and she floods his mind with _hers:_ her body is taut and quivering under him, her thighs are burning with the effort of keeping them spread, his cock is _perfect,_ each stroke hitting every nerve inside her, and she can barely breathe, it feels like he's knocking into her lungs with every movement and she's _climbing_ and _climbing_ but she needs—

Ben pushes his hand between their bodies and fumbles clumsily for the little nub, the part of Rey that he knows touching makes her shriek and gasp and yowl. His fingers find it, and he presses, over and over, side to side.

Rey lets out a cry and her fingertips dig into his back, the blunt nails scrabbling for purchase. She clamps down around him and her toes curl and she _comes_ , so hard and so loudly Ben finds himself desperately trying to stave off his own for a moment until Rey finally relaxes a little, gasping for air. Her face is flushed, sweaty, strands of hair sticking to her face, and her lips are parted, her eyes on his.

Ben loses it entirely. One, two, three more strokes, and he's spilling himself into her hot, slick body, shuddering through it as Rey holds onto his shirt. His vision goes slightly fuzzy, and he goes loose and limp quickly thereafter, collapsing in blessed, languid relief atop Rey.

"Ben," she says, sometime later, sounding reedy.

He answers with a vague, contented noise.

"You're, um, crushing me a bit."

Ben gathers his arms beneath him quickly and heaves himself off her, scanning her for signs of injury. "Sorry," he says. His softening cock is still between her thighs, so he scoots back a little to free himself. They're almost glued together with a drying mixture of spend, sweat, and—

He looks down between their bodies and everything in his mind goes simultaneously absolutely numb and panicked.

Rey pushes herself up on one elbow. "Is everything—" Her eyes find what he's looking at, and she jerks back, covering herself with her right hand as Ben jerks away from her, a perfect storm threatening to boil over in the Force.

 

* * *

 

Kira's patrolling the next hall over, and hears his plea as clearly as if he'd shouted into her ear: _Kira come quick utility closet B-6 **please** I'm begging you—_

She doesn't hesitate, but immediately checks her belt for her vibroblades and races down the hall, into the next one over, and into the utility closet. She slams the door open, ready for almost anything.

What she _isn't_ ready for is Rey, in a state of great dishevelment: pants and basics tugged down around her knees and her tunic slipping off her freckled shoulders. She doesn't seem quite able to walk, and both hands are supporting her on the table in the center of the room. "Kira?" Her eyes lock onto the Knight, and pure panic curls off her in waves.

Kira shuts the door behind her. "Rey? Are you all right? What—"

"Help," she gasps, white in the face, and Ben looms off to the right, his face flushed, but somehow blank and shut off. He's still fully clothed, both his bare hands are clenched into fists, and Kira realizes he's put the table between the two of them.

"What—" Kira dashes forward and supports Rey, standing up with her. "What did you—?"

"She's bleeding," Ben says flatly, abject terror barely disguised underneath. "I don't know what to do."

Rey reaches between her legs and comes up with blood-stained fingers, dark in the light of the glowlamps. "Am I _dying_?" she begs Kira.

"No, you're not dying," Kira says firmly, with a small amount of relief. "Let's get your pants up and head to a fresher. Our dormitory has one and nobody's in there at the moment. Are you in pain?"

"Just, ah, sore," Rey says, dragging her pants back up, and flashing a quick look at Ben. "On the…inside… and around the outside. I don't—I don't know—"

"It's normal," Kira assures her as they exit the closet. "Come on. I'll sit you down and help get you cleaned up."

"Normal?" Ben is following them at a short distance, looking as tense and angry as he ever has. "You never said—"

"It didn't cross my mind," Kira says over her shoulder. "And I wouldn't have really thought to have that conversation with _you._ Rey, you've never had anything up…inside you there before, right?"

"No," says Rey, looking around guiltily as if afraid someone might hear the conversation. Fortunately, it's a short walk back to the quarters Ben is sharing with the Knights, and Kira ushers them inside and locks the door, maneuvering Rey to the fresher.

"You've only stretched out a membrane inside you. Plenty of people with interior genitalia have something like it. It's normal to bleed your first time, and it's also normal _not_ to, because sometimes physical activity stretches or tears the membrane." Kira sits her down on the commode and wets, then hands her a cold washcloth, which Rey presses between her legs. "You'll…probably bleed a little bit for the next day or two. It's like your muscles learning a new thing, you'll be sore for a few days."

Rey can't even look at Ben, her face gone from paper-white to beetroot red. "Oh," she says in a very small voice. "I didn't know."

"Of course not. How could you?" Kira pats her on the shoulder and turns to look at Ben, whose mouth is pressed into a thin, hard line. He's taking up the whole door, unwilling to leave Rey alone. "I'm sorry," she says aloud, and flicks against his mind: _She's going to be fine. I promise._

"No, there's no harm done," he says. "It's my fault. I should have—been more careful." His mind answers back: _she's going to hate me, I hurt her, I **hurt her**_ —

"You were fine," Rey says, looking up at him. "It didn't hurt at all. I didn't know I was bleeding until—until it was over."

Ben gives her one of those intent, blank looks that the Knights have learned to decipher by twitches of the mouth and eyes. Kira can tell he's extremely relieved she's not truly hurt. "Nevertheless. You likely won't want to, ah, do that again for some time."

Rey hands Kira the pink-stained cloth. "I don't think so," she admits. "But—" She casts a look up at him again. "I'll. I'll let you know when I do."

"Oh," he says, blinking in surprise, and warmth settles around him like a blanket, like something comforting, even happy. "You will?"

"Yes," she says, blushing. "Of course."

Ben's mouth drops open, then closes. "Yes. Of course. I—all right."

"You may need to clean yourself off, too," says Kira pointedly.

"Right," he says, and hastily takes off his clothes as Rey politely averts her eyes. Kira notes the blood smeared on his thighs as he gets into the shower cubicle: it's hard not to notice in such a cramped space.

"I really should have given you a talk," she says quietly to Rey as the water starts running. "I'm so sorry."

"I'm so embarrassed," Rey whispers.

"Don't be. I've seen worse. Knew a girl on Glee Ansolm who thought sex was when a male put his penis into her _navel_ , can you imagine?" Rey snorts slightly, and Kira can feel the relief sweeping in a little. "Perfectly all right. Here, wipe." Kira hands her a disposable soft hygiene wipe, and Rey drags it between her legs and looks at it.

"Ew. How much am I going to bleed?"

"Eh," says Kira, squinting at the wipe. "It'll be like a very light cycle for two days or so. Don't panic unless you've got blood clots or really bright red fresh stuff in your basics. I'll find you some things to protect your clothes. Um, not to ask _too_ personal a question, but. Is this…" She swipes her fingers through the sticky, whitish fluid on the wipe, and Rey goes scarlet.

"Is it what?"

"Did he, um. Finish inside you?" Kira's touched far worse substances. She rubs her fingers together and sniffs them.

"Yes," Rey whispers. "Why?"

 _Damn me!_ "We… never covered that," Kira confesses. "He's not supposed to do that. Are you on contraceptives?"

"Contra—no," Rey says. "What…" Her eyes go from Kira's fingers to the wipe to her pubic area, and she groans. "Oh, _no_. I didn't even think—"

"It's all right. Don't panic. There _is_ a medical bay here and I'm sure you could pop in for an implant." Kira pats her thigh.

"Rey?" Ben's voice is oddly echoing from inside the cubicle, rising above the rush of the water. "Everything all right?"

"Everything's fine!" Rey calls, and looks back at Kira. "What do I do if—"

"If you miss your next cycle, just go to Doctor Kalonia. But I'm sure that won't happen. If you like, you can go to the medical bay right now and ask for Sedex. It's a gel, applied internally, that kills the male cells on contact and stays active for a full week. Almost a hundred percent effective in preventing…that." Kira tries to think about other options. "The others don't really have… selections on hand that work for… _this_ sort of thing."

Rey smiles faintly. "No, I don't think they would. Sedex. All right. I'll get my pants back on and—will you come with me?"

"Of course. Kylo, we're going to medical," Kira calls. "Not an emergency, but remind me to have a talk with you about contraception, for Force's sake."

The only answer is a grumble from within the depths of the cubicle.


	23. all eyes on you

"I absolutely insist," says Rey, both hands planted on the table, "that the treaty includes a clause defining _slave_ as not only the legal property of a person, but as a member of an entirely monopolized labor force."

Ben shakes his head, mouth pressed thin. "We can't change the definition," he says. "If you truly want reparations paid to all freed slaves in the New Republic, and we change the definition to include members of monopolized labor forces, that will cost the New Republic _billions._ "

"Then it costs billions," says Rey. "The New Republic will receive profits from the new territories it's getting from the Order."

"How do you propose we abolish monopolized labor on worlds like Tattooine or Jakku?" Ben demands, and Rey meets his gaze, unwilling to back down even though she _knows_ he's seeing straight through her. "Destroying the power structure will only leave a vacuum for others to exploit."

"Always thinking in black and white," she chides. "You don't destroy the power structure; you minimize it by—by making other power structures. You bring in offworld companies who want labor and pay fair wages. You ensure the people are safe from retribution from crime lords and gangsters. _That's_ how you abolish it."

"If I may," interjects Leia, her sharp eyes flickering back and forth between Rey and her son, "Rey, I believe what you're trying to do is certainly morally right."

"Thank you," says Rey, shooting Ben a look.

"However," Leia continues, "The Supreme Leader is correct. You won't get that clause in the treaty because of the sheer cost of implementation, plus we'd have to deliberate on what constitutes a monopoly, and in the end people might just be worse off."

Ben has the grace to nod politely and not look at Rey as she sinks back into her seat, defeated. "Thank you, General. I would certainly be in favor of slowly introducing more employment options on such worlds where monopolies exist—"

Rey listens to his proposal, and digs her nails into her palm. If _money_ is why nobody on a single Core World ever did a thing about her or any of Plutt's scavengers—she swallows hard and fights back her anger. They _knew_ people like her existed, and they would take no drastic steps, because of the _cost_. As if she'd seen a credit in her life before she'd come to the Resistance: paid in meager portions for backbreaking labor.

Ben finishes speaking and Connix taps something into her datapad. "Well, we've been in session for about five hours. I think it's high time for a recess," says Leia, and several agreeing gestures from both sides of the table cement the suggestion.

Rey doesn't wait for Ben to rise. She stands up as soon as Leia does and turns for the door, her black cloak swinging around her knees as she goes.

It's been over a week since her and Ben's ill-ended encounter in the utility closet, and the soreness in her body has long faded. The sore spots elsewhere are another thing entirely. They've become more animated with each other in the war room, haggling over minutia in the treaty that needs to be gone over, but that comes at a price in the form of speculations about the sudden change in their interactions in negotiations from assorted HoloNet reporters and even a few senators. Rey's dodged five questions in as many days about the nature of their relationship.  One particularly brazen journalist, Jacen Pavid, from Coruscant with acid-green hair and silver lipstick had even asked them right at the door in front of _everyone_ if it was true that she and the Supreme Leader had had a sexual relationship at any point in the past, and Rey had fixed him with such a shocked look that the man had backed up a step.

The Supreme Leader had reacted with only the bunched muscle of a clenched jaw, and that particular journo had been curiously absent from all the subsequent negotiations. That, of course, had only served to stoke rumors further, as Rey had seen when Rose had loaned her a networked datapad and she'd scrolled through the HoloNet feed, first with surprise and then with growing horror as she scrolled… and scrolled… and scrolled.

 **@RagingRyloth** : _hf…anyone noticed that Jacen Pavid is GONE from today's negs??  
_**@ImJustRin: @RagingRyloth** _I saw!!! Thought I was losing it tbh, **@JaceFace** are you alive?? Did the SL kill u?  
_**@JSL4EVER** : _I TOLD YOU GUYS. JACEN ASKED ABT THE SL AND THE JEDI AND HE GETS B &?? THEY'RE TOTALLY KRIFFING!!!!  
_**@RagingRyloth** : _…….a record .3 seconds before a rey/ren speccer, incredible, launch me into an airlock  
_**@CorCort** : **@JSL4EVER** _oh please, I'm sure they kicked him bc his q was inappropriate 4 the negs. U people r desperate.  
_**@JSL4EVER: @CorCort** _first of all I didn’t ask u. second of all eat a banthas ass  
_**@CorCort: @JSL4EVER** _no problem! I'll wait patiently for u to bring your mom around_ _J  
_**@ImJustRin: @JSL4EVER** _please get out of my thread. the real person relationship spec thing is fine when its Ryloth Chronicles but not for living. breathing. people.  
_**@JSL4EVER: @rensofnight** _can u please inform these ppl of what ur cousins SIL's friend saw on onderon thx  
_**@rensofnight: @JSL4EVER** _I'm reeeeeally not supposed to mention it  
_**@RagingRyloth:**??????  
**@rensofnight:** _my cousins SIL's friend is a custodian on the base and I guess like a week ago ren kicked down the door of the utility closet they were in_  
**@ImJustRin:** _????_  
**@CorCort:** _and??_  
**@rensofnight** : _and he was like….dragging/holding rey and YELLED at them to get out, they bailed and ran for it  
_**@CorCort:** _so….ren is a violent person who screams at ppl and drags women into closets. Great! Real dreamboat there_ **@JSL4EVER  
@JSL4EVER: **_if u honestly HONESTLY think rey couldn’t defend herself against him at this point idk what 2 tell u. o wait yeah I do. eat a banthas ass_  
**@ImJustRin:** _yikes, uh, I just wanted to know what the kark happened to jace  
_**@JaceFace:** _LADIES. :D So sorry for the delay. Yes, I am alive. Press pass was revoked for a week by officials who very politely asked me to keep questions in the neg room on topic  
@_ **ImJustRin: @JaceFace** _oh,man. Which officials?  
_**@JaceFace: @ImJustRin** _the SL's knights, actually. Definitely was nooooot about to argue with them_  
  
  
There was more, but Rey hadn't been able to force herself to stomach the rest. She'd cornered Rose and demanded to know more, and Rose had explained in no uncertain terms that since she and Ben were considered public figures, and since every _moment_ of their time in the negotiation room was being broadcast across the galaxy at the speed of light, people were naturally going to be curious about them and speculate on the nature of their relationship.

"Don't sweat it," she'd advised. "At one point I was on the holos because I stepped in to tell Connix something and someone started a whole thread on a speccing forum about us."

"Speccing?" Rey had frowned. "I saw that on the feed but I don't know what it means."

"Oh, you know. If you spec someone you're speculating about their relationships." Rose had waved a hand. "You know, like if you're watching _Offworlder_ and you think Jayme and Ardeth should be a _thing_ , because they have a ton of chemistry even though they haven't even kissed yet on the show—anyway. That's speccing. You spec them."

"Wh—what's _Offworlder_?" Rey had asked, feeling even more lost.

Rose had shaken her head and grinned. "Only the worst, best show on the HoloNet. With a _great_ theme song. You've got to watch it. I found out Qore Ren is _super_ into it, but she specs Ardeth and Kael Noth. Kira Ren likes it, but pretends she's not as into it as we are."

Rey had departed with probably more confusion than she had when she'd initiated the conversation, but of one thing she'd been sure: she wants nothing to do with being in the public eye, being scrutinized from her head to her feet.

Someone had brought her most of her old clothes, and she wears them now, cobbled together with some new parts added, _like a real scavenger_ , she thinks stubbornly. Let the HoloNet see her for what she is. She wears a pair of long gray trousers, padded at the knees, her trusty, tall brown boots, her brown woven tunic, her dark gray obi, her leather belt and holstered blaster (left at the door for negotiations, of course), her slate-gray tabards in the Jedi tradition, her old gray arm-bindings, and her woven gauntlets. Both wrists are adorned with leather cuffs, and she's modified the one on her left to hold a comlink. She's taken to wearing brown nerf-leather gloves, worn even in the heat of the jungle world, and a gray cowl across her shoulders, covering her up to her jaw. During the negotiations, she wears a black cloak she'd made herself, ripping up and stitching back together Hux's discarded gabarwool coat: it hits at her knees and has wide sleeves and a hood: a reminder to the Order that she's got the protection of their Supreme Leader.

It's also no small topic of gossip on the HoloNet feed. Rey entertains the thought of registering just to mess with some of the people on there, but decides against it. She _definitely_ couldn't handle the flood of insanity if her identity was figured out.

 

* * *

 

Ben watches Rey leave as subtly as he can, fully aware of the holocams fixed on him, unblinking receptors capturing his every move. They haven't spoken privately, or indeed been in a room alone with each other for more than a week—mostly because the barrage of personal questions are getting more outrageous and they don't need the attention, but Rey looks genuinely upset at the outcome of the talks on slavery, and he can't help but feel guilty.

He'd be remiss if he also didn't admit to himself that her new clothes look as if she's trying to conceal her whole body, and while that's peculiar, he can't help but entertain mental images of pulling her into a side room and removing layer after layer, uncovering her bare body, pressing his mouth to her neck—

 _So why don't you just go ask her out for caf or something?_ asks Charal, on his right. They've gotten new clothes by now: black cloaks with red lining, swept over one arm to conceal their weapons. They don't need masks anymore: everyone knows exactly who they are.

 _He can't, dummy,_ says Obri. _Too many eyes, and we don't need the media whipping themselves into a frenzy over the two of them._ Charal subsides, a wave of acknowledgement surging through the Force. The Supreme Leader isn't the only one affected or irritated by the intrusion into their personal lives. Ben rather envies Obri: not a single person has caught on to her and Phasma's relationship, either because two people on the same side of the table aren't as interesting as two people professing to be on _opposite_ sides, or because Phasma has the world's best resting angry face and never makes a facial expression at anyone, he's not sure.

Ben stands as regally as he can and nods at his mother, who returns the gesture, then makes his way around the table, trying to ignore the shouted requests for comments from the HoloNet News and the Polestar Journal and the Galactic Gazette.

"Sir, is it true that the Order has plans salvaged from the old Imperial library on Scarif?"

"Sir, when will Armitage Hux be executed?"

"Sir, do you have any comment on the state of the—"

He pushes past them all and heads out, flanked by his Knights, into the blessed peace and quiet of the halls. Leia joins him momentarily, leaning on her cane and shaking her head.

"Imperial plans from Scarif. Where do they come up with this?" she scoffs.

"It's not too late to add a provision concerning limitations on the free press," Ben grumbles.

Leia sighs. "The free and uncensored press is the price a civilization pays to not fall into totalitarianism," she tells him.

"Chandar Voss," he says automatically, and Leia looks at him in surprise.

"Yes, that's right. I used to read it to you at night. Bored you to sleep, most likely." She shakes her head, a small smile on her lips. "I'm surprised you remember any of it."

Ben hesitates. "I…gave a copy to Rey, when she was aboard the _Annihilation_."

"Mmm," says his mother. "Well. As courting gifts go, that's a bit dry, but not bad."

"Mother," he says, sounding pained. "It wasn't for—I wasn't— _courting_ —"

"Of course not," Leia agrees, a gleam in her eye, "which is why you treated her far better than you had to. And wouldn't let a single First Order officer go near her. And divided your personal guards up to watch her. And gave her gifts. And smuggled her off the ship—your father would have been proud, by the way—because you certainly don't care for her at all in the slightest, not a bit."

Ben feels his face flush with heat. "Where did you—who told you—"

"Rey did," says Leia. "She had to fill out a very long and detailed report about her treatment at the hands of the Order once she was medically cleared."

Ben desperately fights the urge to kick something, to whip his saber out and gash streaks of burn-scar into the duracrete tunnel walls, to rage that nobody had any _right_ to know any of that. But they do, after all, and the rage belongs to Kylo Ren, not Ben Solo, so he swallows his anger and nods at his mother, small and bent and peeping up at him from the height of his shoulder with bright eyes. "I see," he says.

"Ben," she says gently. "We need to have a talk."

Charal jerks back almost instantly in surprise, and Obri flashes a glance across her shoulder at Ben, who is becoming more discomfited by the second.

"A talk concerning _what_?" he asks stiffly.

"Things I would prefer to discuss behind closed doors and not in the earshot of your Knights," Leia says. "About certain… aspects of life I don't think you quite have a handle on."

Ben goes scarlet. Obri almost chokes. "General," she says, sounding strangled, "there's very little that the Supreme Leader _doesn't_ know about, erm, aspects of _life_ —"

"Obri—" Ben begins.

Leia frowns. "My son's never been expected to do certain things, and that is why—"

" _Mother_ —"

"Ma'am—"

" _He's already taken Rey to bed_ ," gasps Charal, cheeks flaming. Her hands fly up to cover her mouth, and in the horrid silence that follows, Ben feels about ten years old again, under a steely-eyed dark gaze that no living man in the galaxy can survive for long. He must run and hide, or perish in its beam.

"I see," says Leia dryly. "Well. Since I was referring to having a conversation with my son about how to proceed with life in the public eye while balancing a personal life, something that I have _great_ experience with, and that he does not, I will do my absolute best to forget those words came out of your mouth, Charal Ren."

Charal, for the first time in her life, doesn't wait to be dismissed by Ben. She lets out a humiliated little moan and flees down the hall, her cloak billowing behind her.

"Obri. You may go." Ben doesn’t bother to look at her, but her heavy footsteps echo down the tunnel, following Charal.

"Son," says Leia. "Let's talk."


	24. light to fill you

Ben pulls up two chairs for them in a deserted corner of the mess hall, and they sit at the rickety table, both hunched over cups of caf and more similar than not from a distance: two figures in dark robes, both with the same eyes, the same set to the jaw.

Leia explains the ins and outs of dealing with the media: everything he says, she makes clear, will be under scrutiny: every word an insect to dissect and put under lamps, _especially_ since he is still acting Supreme Leader, and even more so because he is Kylo Ren—he is automatically untrustworthy, suspicious, a dark and imposing figure who might do anything at all.

"Be polite," she tells him. "Be generous. Don't overestimate the value of posture. Never lose your temper where a holo or a journo can see you."

He asks questions, clipped and terse at first, then open, longer, easier. She tells him about the media: how they easily twist long statements and how to speak in short, unmistakable bites: how to be clear and to the point, how to look into the holos in a way that seems friendly and sincere.

"Nobody's ever going to see me as _warm_ and _personable_ ," Ben says, feeling hopeless about thirty minutes in. "Why even bother, if people are going to mistrust me and hate me anyway—as they _should_ —"

"Because trying is better than giving up," Leia says firmly. "Besides, if Rey can harbor kind feelings toward you, anyone can. Don't give up hope."

"Rey—" Ben shuts his eyes, struggling with his feelings. "Rey's different. She's not like these people."

"Rey is no different than you, or I, or Poe Dameron," Leia says. "She's a _person_. Don't put her on a pedestal, Ben." She sighs. "Well, maybe a very small pedestal. She is the last Jedi, after all. But don't forget she's a human being first."

"I haven't even spoken to her in more than a week," he admits, fingers wrapping around his caf mug. It's gone cold, and sits dark and muddy in the cup. "I don't know if she wants to speak to me, especially after this morning. We're both so busy—and the HoloNet won't get off our backs. I just want this damn treaty signed." He leans back and runs a hand through his hair, slouching in his seat.

"Sit up or your back will be stuck like that," Leia orders automatically, and he sits up straight, looking half-abashed. "Well. I happen to know she meditates in the training room quite often, usually after stressful encounters. I also know that the media is strictly confined to the war room and the antechamber outside it from 0600 to 1600."

"Ah," he says.

"So. Perhaps some _meditation_ will do you good." Leia raises an eyebrow and Ben feels a flush creeping up his neck.

"Mother, _please_ —"

"What?" She leans back in her seat, a mischievous glint in her eye. "I'm not allowed to tell my son to go meditate? I've done it a fair few times. Very relaxing. Good for the spirit."

"Force," he says under his breath, and pushes up from the table. "I'll go, I'll go."

"And don't be late; recess is going to be recalled in an hour!" she calls after him.

 

* * *

 

Rey is sitting cross-legged on the training mat in the almost-dead-center of the room. Kira and Kymber Ren are standing guard, half-meditating themselves, when a small surge of awareness from Kira alerts Rey: _He's coming._

Rey acknowledges this, and lets it pass over her. She feels the door slide open; she feels the pressure of his feet on the floor, the slight give as he steps onto the mat. He doesn't want to disturb her: she can sense his intentions and the settling of his body on the mat as he sits, mirroring her pose: legs crossed, back straight, hands resting in his lap.

She reaches out for the Force, and the Force fills her like light, like a river, like a waterfall. He answers and the Force fills him: like electricity, like a storm, gathered and roiling.

 _No,_ she says. _Don't pull it to you, let it pass you over. I sense your fear._

He struggles for a moment, still clinging to the Force as if he's a child, holding a stuffed toy in both hands, unwilling to let go. Fear. How long has it been since he felt no fear? Ben meditates on that, and realizes the last time he was entirely fearless was…well, almost a week and a half ago, precisely at the moment when—

Rey hears him. _Yes. Let the Force pass over you like you passed over me. Trust it. Let it fill you. Let it take you._

Ben breathes.

_There is no fear. There is only the Force._

He lets go.

The Force surges up, filling him like an ocean, a torrent, a flood: it threatens to drown him, pummel him. It's at once exhilarating and terrifying—like flinging himself into a raging storm from a cliff, like his whole body has gone to lightspeed.

 _Don't fight it,_ says Rey, and Ben struggles to keep his fear down, to let the Force move through him, flowing into his body like a vessel and back out again, and all at once, just when he thinks he won't be able to stand it anymore, everything calms and goes clear and bright and still, light piercing him through, his skin glass, his blood water. He's gone transparent in the Force: a being of _light._

He hasn't realized he's been holding his breath until he sucks in a gasp of air and startles himself out of his trance, hands flat on the floor, his arms trembling.

Arms. His arms. They're not transparent. They're encased in black sleeves, black gloves. Ben rips off his glove to be sure, and yes, his hands are as they have always been: large, solid, pale, blunt: the nails short, the knuckles big. He can see veins under the skin, snaking across the backs of his hands.

"There," Rey says, still in position. "That wasn't too bad, was it?"

His hands are shaking. He thinks he might be sick. "How do you _do_ that?" he asks hoarsely.

"I just…do," she says, looking puzzled. "My first try, though—that was a mess. I went straight to the dark side. Luke almost—" Rey shuts her mouth quickly and looks away.

Guilt floods Ben. "Luke almost?" he prompts.

"I just—he told me he'd only ever seen the kind of power I had once before, and chastised me for not even hesitating to go to the dark side." Rey's still not looking at him. "But I still don't think—I don't think tapping into the dark side is bad. As long as it's balanced out, I mean. Light and dark." She shakes her head. "I'm sorry. Here I am, philosophizing. Did you want something?"

Ben touches on Kira and Kymber: _Wait outside._ They silently obey, departing through the doors. "I wanted to—I—" he swallows, trying to get a handle on his emotions. "What happened the other week? I—wanted that to be better than it was, and I'm sorry."

"Oh," says Rey. "I mean. I'm sure it could have been worse."

He shakes his head. "I imagined—I mean, when I did imagine it—I always thought of a big, soft bed. Sheets and pillows and going very slowly so I didn't hurt or frighten you—not a dirty utility closet full of Force knows what and half-crushing you and making an idiot out of myself."

She smiles. "As if dirt scares _me_."

"I didn't, ah," he says awkwardly. "I didn't know you'd never done that before. And you've changed your whole—" Ben gestures to her clothing. "Your whole look, and I just—I thought maybe that had something to do with it."

"Well, _you_ hadn't either," she says, face flaming. "And I'm not a different person because—because your—you know, did…went… into me. I just—I thought I should look more intimidating, and more like a scavenger, because people across the galaxy watching all this unfold on the HoloNet seem to think we're sneaking around regularly, and I don't want to come across like some kind of—I don't know—I want to be taken seriously right now."

"Oh," Ben says. He desperately wants to ask if she's still in pain, still aching; he wants to ask if she'll let him take her right there on the floor— _what are you thinking, you laser-brained moron?_ "I understand."

"You changed your outfit too," Rey says, pointing at him, and that's true, too: he's kept his black, thigh-length quilted tunic (a mistake in this heat), black pants, gloves, and black boots; but he's added a knee-length over-surcoat in dark gray lined with blood-red chersilk salvaged from a curtain on the _Annihilation_ and a pair of shoulder pauldrons in shining chromium: one with the Resistance starbird etched into it and the other flaunting the First Order hexagonal seal. "I like it."

Ben's almost sure at this point that Rey's approval can and should be classed as a Level Eight addictive substance. "Yeah?"

"The sort-of beard, though," she admits, fighting a smile as she circles her mouth with a finger, "I'm not exactly feeling."

"Oh. That one's not on purpose. I just forgot to shave for the past couple of days," he explains. "I'll—I'll do it tonight. I've never been able to grow a damn beard."

Rey giggles. "Yeah, me either."

Ben lets his mouth quirk up into a half-smile. "They're going to reconvene in about ten minutes," he says, glancing at his chrono. "We probably shouldn't walk in together."

"Right." Rey looks down. "I—I'm not angry at you, by the way, about the slavery talks."

"I'm glad to hear it," Ben says.

"I just—it's very frustrating, knowing that people on their cushy Core Worlds won't do anything to help people like me, because of money and politics and complicated dumb reasons." She rests her elbows on her knees and hangs her head. "People should just help each other because it's _right_."

"I agree," he says.

"Well," Rey says heavily, and stands up, Ben following her movements. "I suppose we should make our way back out. We could walk back together and I can go inside first, I suppose."

"I'll leave first," he says, looking at his chrono. "You wait a few minutes and follow. We don't need an over-eager journo catching us in the corridor and making assumptions."

 _"True_ assumptions," says Rey, her eyes glinting with sudden mischief. "Yes, Maker forbid."

Ben narrows his eyes. "Behave yourself, Madam Jedi," he says, letting his voice drop into Kylo Ren's even, dark tones.

The effect on Rey is instantaneous. Her cheeks go pink, her pupils dilate, and he's sure he can sense her heart rate increasing. "I always do, Supreme Leader."

He steps forward and tilts her chin up gently with a black-gloved hand. "Good. Distractions simply cannot be tolerated when one is working very hard on negotiating a treaty that half the galaxy is depending on and watching."

"I don't suppose distractions will be tolerated in off-hours?" she says boldly, hazel eyes staring right into his soul and oh, Force, _Force_ , he cannot, _cannot_ walk into that damned war room in front of his mother and reporters and generals and Resistance representatives hard as steel in his trousers, he _can't._ "Perhaps… during recesses?"

 _"Damn_ it, Rey," Ben says tightly.

"There's a changing room with a lock on the door behind us," she tells him quickly.

"Ten minutes," he growls, and before he knows what he's doing he's got Rey by the arm and he's striding to the little changing room, shutting the door, locking it, turning, and his mouth is on Rey's and she's yanking on the clasp of his trousers, panting.

He has no idea how he gets her trousers down, or how they end up on the floor, Rey missing a boot and bent across the bench inside the tiny room, her round backside pressed up against his hips, her trousers trapping her thighs together, tangled around her knees. "You stay right there," he whispers, and presses a finger into her, making sure she's ready, listening to her gasp as he pulls out his cock with the other hand. "Shh. Be quiet. This room isn't soundproofed."

Rey covers her mouth with one hand, trembling. "Please," she hisses through her fingers, "I _need_ you—"

He presses himself gently to her opening, grasps her hips, and slowly, _slowly_ pushes into her, fighting a cry of his own as he buries himself in her snug, slick heat. Rey yelps and he reaches around, his hand covering her mouth. "I said, be _quiet_ ," he orders, and she moans through her nose, her fingers tightening on the bench as he starts to move, pumping in and out of her.

Her mind finds his, and he lets her in again.

 

* * *

 

Rey has never, ever enjoyed anything as much as this in her _life_. Ben's got her bent over a bench in the changing room, his thick cock pressing into her at angles she'd never dreamed of, pushing into and across something wonderfully tender at the very front of her insides that makes her want to scream. His huge hand is clamped around her mouth, her lips pressing into his palm, and he's making rough little noises in his throat.

She's got both hands clamped tightly around the edge of the bench in an effort to not shriek, and her legs are stuck between his: she can't move, she's entirely at his mercy and she _trusts_ him. He's seen her innermost mind, and she's seen his: this is just another kind of communion, after all. Physical, instead of mental—to take and to give and to exchange.

 _Yes_ , says Ben, deeply entrenched in her mind, _to give. To give. I'll give you everything I have. All of me. Yours. Yours. Always._

Rey moans again, tears gathering in her eyes. _Not alone. You're not alone. Mine._

He lets out a desperate little whine, somewhere in his throat, and it sends her over the edge: every muscle in her body contracts, she howls into Ben's hand, tears roll down her cheeks, her thighs shake and shake until she's over her climax and coming back down, limp and sated over the bench.

_I'm going to—Rey—Rey—_

_I'm here,_ she whispers, and he lets out a strangled cry, pulling out of her and snatching a sani-wipe from the wall dispenser to his hand with the Force. Rey turns, slipping off the bench and trying to catch her breath, and watches him: kneeling, one hand moving frantically as he spills into the wipe, his lips pressed into a tense line, his jaw clenching.

Once he's finished, he stays there for a moment, trembling and breathing deeply, then flings the soiled wipe into the wall receptacle. "I, ah," he says, eyes slipping over to find her. "Kira Ren was extremely stern about safer methods."

"Yeah," says Rey, wiping her damp face with the back of her hand. "I should look into getting an implant. They're supposed to be good for five years."

Five years. Ben blinks. "Right," he says automatically. "Here—let me help you up—"

He gets her to a standing position and she pulls her basics and trousers up, wincing slightly as she sits on the bench to pull her left boot back on. "I'll feel that for a bit," she says.

"Are you in pain?" Ben steps back, half-worried. "I can—I can get a mild painkiller from Kalonia—"

"No, nothing like that," Rey tells him. "Just—look." She stands again and pulls her trousers down, bending over to show him. "It happened last time, too. I think it's normal."

Ben stares. Her delicate flesh is swollen and red: slick and tender-looking between the pale twin curves of her backside. "Oh," he says, and reaches out experimentally to run a finger along one of the folds. Rey jerks slightly, a soft sound escaping her throat, and he pulls his hand back with an apology as she stands back up again, yanking her pants up and turning to face him. "It should fade in about an hour or so," she explains. "Just—you're very… thick. And, um, enthusiastic. So. Lots of friction."

He doesn't quite know what to say to that, and glances at his watch to hide the mixture of pride and vague worry rampaging through his system. "Five minutes," he says. "I'll go first. You take some time to, ah, recover."

"Recover," she scoffs, yanking her right boot on. "Don't walk around with your chest puffed out looking so smug. Anyone with a brain will catch on instantly."

"I am not smug," he protests.

"Yes, you are. You look like a porg who just laid three eggs at once." Rey wrinkles her nose at him, then smiles. "Hurry up and go. I'll see you in the war room."

"Yes, ma'am," he says, finding it almost impossible to hide his pride. Impulsively, he leans down and kisses the top of her head, then turns on his heel and leaves, the door shutting behind him.

Rey leans against the wall, clutches her arms, and grins so hard she thinks her face might break.

 

* * *

 

"Rey! Rey of Jakku! Madam Jedi!" Holos snap, and mics get pushed around as Rey enters the war room, doing her best to look serene and polite. She smiles at the assorted reporters and journos, says she won't be taking questions, and makes her way to her seat, precisely opposite Ben.

She sits, and tender flesh wails in protest. _Shut up_ , she thinks murderously at her own body, and feels her right eye twitch. _You liked it in the process, you can deal with the aftermath._

Ben is a calm carving; a hand resting on the table as she pretends to take no notice of him at all and flips through the datapad at her seat, looking at the topics for the rest of the day. The list is growing shorter, and she hopes that's a sign that these damn negotiations are finally coming to an end.

 _Sitting back a little, are we_? Ben inquires, brushing against her mind.

Rey frowns, looking at a proposal from a mining corporation in the Outer Rim very intently. _You can keep your observations about my seat to yourself._ She reaches across the table and sips at the water provided for them.

Across the table, Ben picks up his own datapad and concentrates on something. _It's a very nice seat. Round, pert, firm. Good handles._

She nearly chokes on her water, shaking her head at Connix, who offers a handkerchief. "Wrong pipe," she says, coughing. Two can play at that game. She rocks slightly on her seat, side to side, and sends the sensation through their link, all the tenderness and swollen, abused flesh, the slick heat still puddling in her groin, the ache in her thighs. _Wouldn't you like to bend me over this conference table and make it better?_

Ben doesn't answer. She hands the handkerchief back to Connix, thanking her, and pretends to survey the table, getting a good look at Ben, who's gone slightly paler than usual, one hand so tightly clamped around the stylus in his fingers that she thinks it might break. 

"All rise for General Organa," says an aide at that precise moment, and Rey easily stands, turning to face Leia as she enters. Ben stands too, his hands clasped strategically in front of his crotch, and sits down as quickly as he possibly can once his mother is seated.

 _You're going to pay for that,_ he says, as Finn directs everyone to look over the next issue.

 _I'm counting on it,_ says Rey, and blocks him out, looking very hard at the datapad.

 

* * *

 

"So you're telling me that all of you survived the Jedi Academy massacre and stayed with Kylo Ren?" Poe asks incredulously.

Kira nods and sips her caf. "We were teenagers—well, older teenagers. It was…a complicated time."

"I'll bet," says Poe, and glances over at Obri, whose mouth is firmly attached to Talla's, both of them trying to get out the door. They're bumping into the wall, moaning. "Uh. Have to say, I'd never considered who the Knights of Ren actually _were_ , beyond, you know. Terrifying Jedi-killers."

"It's a misnomer," Kira says. "I suppose you could make an argument for Ren being a Jedi-killer, but the rest of us, not…really."

"Right, right." Poe blinks, watching as Obri maneuvers Talla though the door and they disappear. "So, uh. Are you all—is it some kind of constant…uh, polysexual thing, or—"

"Maker, no," says Kymber, shaking her head. "Those two are just…inseparable." She pushes her tray away. "And I think being cooped up in the heat is making it worse."

"Oh, I believe it," says Poe. "Almost tripped over Rose Tico and Finn necking in an old munitions room yesterday. This goes on much longer, we're going to see a bumper crop of Resistance babies in about nine months."

Kira snorts, imagining toddlers in miniature flight suits. "Not just the Resistance, either," she tells Poe. "Between you and me, someone caught Commander Lux and Lieutenant Mitaka in a fresher a week ago. In, shall we say, a state unbecoming of officers."

"Is _that_ why the good lieutenant has been absent for the past few days?" Poe grins.

"Yup. So I'd put a bet on a few Order babies cropping up in nine months. You?" She throws him a grin and downs the rest of her caf.

"Maker," says Poe, chuckling. "Hey, if I didn't think it was insane, I'd put money on a little Jedi showing up around then, too."

Kymber chokes on her blue milk and Kira fights to keep a straight face. "Is that right," she deadpans.

"Finn says Ren won't stop staring a hole through Rey and now that they're practically shouting the room down over every little detail in negotiations—I mean, hey. It's crazy. I know they're avoiding each other like the Guavian plague, but _something's_ got to break. And as much as the mental image scars me for life—" Poe shakes his head. "Nah. Maybe I'm just seeing things that aren't there." He pushes his chair away. "I've gotta stop scrolling the Holonet feeds. I'm starting to sound like one of those crazy speccers."

"Oh, Force," says Kymber with some heat. "I read a whole thread about how I— _I_ —must be madly in love with Kylo Ren or I'd never have agreed to be his decoy. Does nobody in the galaxy understand the concept of _loyalty_ without there being some kind of biological imperative behind it?"

Kira rolls her eyes. "No, no, it's because you're obviously just so _beautiful_ and _exotic_ and _otherworldly_ , and we're all clearly slavishly devoted to our dear Supreme Leader's every imaginable _need._ " She mimes shooting herself in the head with a blaster and Kymber laughs. "Someone ought to write a terrible romance holobook about us. People would eat it up. I can see it now. It can be called something like _The Knights' Kiss: a Tale of Forbidden Love_."

Poe pretends to gag. "Oh, that's terrible. And you couldn't use any of the real names, of course. You'd have to call Ren something like…Bylo Nen."

"Bylo _Nen_?" Kymber says, and starts fighting giggles, her face turning purple.

"And you'd obviously be…Limber," says Poe, waggling his eyebrows. "Get it?" Kymber goes into gales of laughter. Kira presses her lips together in an effort to not choke at his terrible joke. Poe grins. "Listen, I've read _The Corellian's Consort_ way too many times to not make a terrible pun or two, and don't blame me, because when we left Crait it was the only thing to read on the _Falcon_ for months."

"All right," Kira says, laughing, "we're definitely writing this, and it's going to be cobbled together from the absolute worst speccing threads we can find and we're going to shove in awful passages from terrible romance holos. You asked for it, Dameron."

"I'll take all the credit. I'll use a pseudonym. You won't regret a thing," he teases, laughing. "Instant bestseller. Split the proceeds three ways. Boom. We can all retire."

"If it gives us something to do until this damn treaty is signed, count me in," Kymber wheezes. "Oh, Force. I haven't laughed like that in months."

"Bylo Nen," whispers Kira, and they both explode into contagious giggles again, slamming their hands on the table and desperately trying to remember how to breathe. "I'm never going to be able to look him in the eyes again. Maker help me."

"Stop, my abs hurt," gasps Poe, laughing so hard he's almost crying. "Why did I ever say Bylo Nen?"

Kira squeaks out a hysterically high-pitched round of giggles, and Kymber falls sideways onto her shoulder, tears in her eyes. "I don't know," she wheezes, "but I'm never going to let you forget it."


	25. nothing and everything left to lose

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're ALMOST DONE. Make sure to follow me on twitter @urulokid where I'm sharing WIP pieces from my next fic, a Titanic Reylo AU!
> 
> Warnings for this chapter:  
> -a man strikes a woman in the mouth (unintentionally, which is made very clear)  
> -a man is violated mentally with the Force in an interrogation  
> -mention of physical violation, but not in much detail: implied sexual

"Kark me," gasps Rey, flat on her back, hair stuck to her face with sweat. She bares her teeth, trying to stave off the inevitable.

"Come on," Ben demands, his whole body pressed into hers, heavy and slick with sweat.

There's a deep ache in her thighs, and her arms are sore: they've been at this for what feels like hours and everything in her body wants to give up. "I can't," she pants, struggling beneath him.

"Yes, you can." His eyes are intense, fixed on hers, face close enough to kiss. "You can do it."

Rey grits her teeth and gathers all her strength before she hauls up and shoves him off, sending him stumbling to the other side of the training room floor.

There's polite applause from the ring of spectators standing around the edges of the mat, and Rey takes a moment to let the Force flood her body and get her bearings. A public sparring match had been Leia's idea: get people interested in something other than boring politics and get some of the excess energy out of everyone's system. It's pretty much doing the opposite for Rey: it's been several days since she and Ben managed to find a quiet, secluded space in the myriad tunnels, and they hadn't even been able to do anything beyond kissing and some clumsy groping in the dark: someone had decided that had been an appropriate time to take some journos on a historical tour of the base, and they'd only managed to get away unnoticed due to a few quick mind-tricks. It had effectively killed the mood.

Now, she crouches on a mat, clad in only tight-fitting black training gear she borrowed from Charal, and waits for her opponent to gather himself for the second round. They're not using any weapons (both their sabers sit propped up against the wall, prompting several holographers to crowd each other for snapshots) and Rey flexes her fingers, feeling the soreness there. She's already been pinned once for a full ten seconds, which means she'll have to win the next two rounds if she doesn't want to look like an idiot in front of everyone here, and Ben, for all his emotional attachment to her, really pulls no punches when it comes to training.

He charges again, interrupting her thoughts, and Rey dodges, ducking and rolling. He's big and powerful, but she's quicker and smaller, which means she'll need to use that to her advantage.

"Go, Rey!" shouts Poe from the sidelines, shooting her a thumbs-up. She grins and returns it. "Kick his ass!"

Ben drops to his knee, swivels, comes back up, and aims a kick at Rey's shoulder. She blocks it and aims a punch at his face, which misses: he's got reflexes like a cat, for all his size. Using her forward momentum, he ducks beneath her, lifts her bodily across his broad shoulders, and turns. Rey yells in protest, but he flings her to the mat anyway, getting a soft "oooh" from the crowd.

As he comes down to pin her, she rolls at the last second, leaving him kneeling over nothing, and wraps her legs around his shoulders, forcing his face to the mat with all her strength. A cheer goes up from the audience as Finn, acting as referee, counts to ten, and they break away, Ben red in the face and Rey grinning.

"We're even," she calls out, spreading her feet to get into a stance.

"You wish," he responds, getting a low cheer from the Order audience members.

She takes off running, directly at him. He readies himself, and she dodges at the last minute, bouncing off her hands and sweeping his legs out from under him in a kick. Ben tumbles to his side, coming down hard, and Rey tackles him, straddling his chest, trapping his elbows under her knees, and pinning his shoulders down flat with her hands as he struggles beneath her. The audience roars its approval.

Ben is sweating, straining to move her. One elbow pops free, and his hand strikes out and up with the force, the heel of his hand punching her in the mouth. She's stunned by the blow, but senses his sudden shock and vaguely hears the audience shouting, so she catches his free hand, rolls him over to his belly by wrenching his arm down and behind, and sits on his back, his face pressed into the mat and the crowd cheering again. Try as he might, Ben can't get free.

"Eight…nine…ten!" Finn shouts, and Rey rolls off him, gingerly touching her mouth.

"Rey," Ben says, sitting up. His eyes find her lips, and his face smooths out into an expressionless mask.

"I'm fine," she says, and spits a gob of blood onto the mat as she stands and raises a victorious fist at Leia, who smiles and claps, and a hundred holocams go off, snap-snap-click.

"All right. Medical for you," says Finn, and looks down at Ben, who seems to snap himself out of it and stands, facing Rey. They bow to each other politely, and Rey follows Connix over to the communal changing area, beyond a partition, where there's a medical kit waiting.

Next up, for the entertainment and edification of everyone, the Knights of Ren stalk onto the mat, all holding training staffs and paired off: Kymber and Qore, Charal and Obri, Talla and Kira. They're wearing one-piece training suits, gloves and flexible boots: a little more revealing than normal, but nobody dares to even raise an eyebrow—except Phasma, who raises exactly one, and gets a little smirk from Obri.

They face each other, bow, and begin.

 

* * *

 

"You could at least talk to me," says Rey through the bacta patch on her lip.

"What's there to say?" Ben demands. He's leaning against the wall like he wants it to swallow him. "Besides to give you an apology."

She sighs. "You've already said you're sorry about a million times, Ben. It's fine. It's sparring. People get bruises and bumps and cuts, and if you hadn't, someone would have accused you of going easy on me."

"I should have had you paired off with one of the Knights. Charal's just about your build." He's pacing now, his sweat-slicked hair shining in the overhead lights. "Maybe Qore. You like Qore."

Rey rolls her eyes. "That wouldn't have been nearly as exciting for everyone to—"

"I don't _care_ ," he says through his teeth, turning at the end of the room, "what everyone else is _excited_ about. I care that I was careless."

"Yeah, well. I sliced your face open on Starkiller. Call it even." Rey taps her lip and peels the bacta off, pursing and flexing the delicate skin. "There. See? Good as new."

Ben's gaze flickers over to her, assessing the injury. He apparently finds it acceptable. "I'll leave you to shower," he says flatly, and turns, exiting the changing area.

Kaydel Ko Connix sighs behind Rey. "He's dramatic, isn't he?"

Rey hands her the used patch. "He's getting better, if you can believe it."

"Sure can't," jokes Kaydel. "Meet you back out there after you shower."

 

* * *

 

Rey emerges from the changing area, damp hair hanging down her back, just in time to see Qore Ren slam Charal to the ground, to resounding applause. Kymber and Kira, having beaten their respective opponents, are fighting tooth and nail, so fast that the holos can barely keep up, staffs going _clack-clack-clack_. Kira moves to strike Kymber on the shoulder, but the Umbaran woman ducks easily, feints, and strikes her in the thigh, to cheers and applause.

Kira pulls her staff in and bows, then makes her way off the mat to let Kymber and Qore duel it out. "Hi, Rey," she says, joining her. "Lip all right?"

"Yeah. How did you—oh, right." Rey taps her head. "Your...Force-thing."

The Knight wipes her face and neck down with a towel, and nods. "He's not too happy with himself. I just told him at least he didn't kiss you on the floor in front of the reporters. That would have been far worse."

"Oh, Force," says Rey, flushing.

"Hey," says Poe Dameron, poking his head around Kira's other side. "Ren came out brooding up a storm. You all right?"

"I'm fine," Rey says. "I won the match, didn't I?"

Poe grins. "You sure did. Crane's over there grumbling about how it must have been thrown."

"Ridiculous," says Kira, rolling her eyes. "Rey won fair and square."

On the mat, Qore has managed to get her staff around Kymber's throat, holding her in place, and Kymber slaps the mat several times in quick succession, signaling defeat. Qore releases her, they bow to each other, and Qore bows to Leia, who nods in recognition.

"I don't suppose you want to go a few rounds with me," Poe suggests to Kira.

Kira turns and gives him a cool, appraising look. "Hmm. I didn't know you had a thing for getting your ass kicked."

"Aw, come on," says Poe. grinning. "What's the worst that could happen?"

 

* * *

 

Five minutes later, Kira has Poe's neck locked between her thighs, flat on the mat, and he's slamming his hand on the floor frantically, wheezing for air.

The crowd goes nuts as Kira releases him and flings herself back up on her feet. Ben has slunk back in, and there's a very small smile on his face as he watches from the sidelines with the other Knights.

"You can't use the Force, it's not fair," Poe insists, rubbing his throat as he staggers up.

"I'm not using the Force at all," Kira says, to the general amusement of the audience, even the Resistance members. "Here. Just because I feel bad for you, I'll let you get in one hit." She spreads her feet and opens her arms. "Come on, Poe. You can do it. I believe in you."

He huffs and puffs and charges, and true to her word she lets him get one punch in to her shoulder before she executes a lovely little piece of footwork and twists his punching arm behind him, trapping him and forcing him back down to the mat.

"Time!" shouts Finn. "Two out of two, Kira Ren wins."

She lets Poe go and he gets up, rolling his shoulder and giving her a sideways look. "Remind me not to mess with any of you," he mutters as they bow to each other.

"As if you need a reminder," she shoots back.

Kira completely misses the admiring look Poe gives her as she saunters off to the changing room, and the ensuing dagger-like glare from Ben.

 

* * *

 

"I must insist that Armitage Hux be brought before us and questioned immediately, with respect to the question of how much he had planned to sabotage the Order," Crane says, both hands on the table. "Before he's executed, we must know what he knows."

"I agree," says Leia. "If that man has some kind of trick up his sleeve, I want to know about it."

"Sir," says Major Keli, timidly turning to Ben, who looks impassive, "would you be willing to…interrogate Hux?"

He looks at her coldly, and she sits back slightly. "I assume by _interrogate_ you mean that you want me to invade the man's mind with the Force and forcibly expose every single thing he knows to you all."

There's an awkward silence. "Well—yes, sir," says Crane.

"It's not a damn party trick," Ben says. He looks more exhausted than he's looked in days, and Rey can sense the exhaustion and frustration pouring off him. Both Charal and Qore look tired, too.

"Supreme Leader," she says politely, and his eyes flick to her instantly. "If I may. Your Knight, Kira Ren, is also talented with interrogative techniques, and Kymber Ren is skilled at emotional manipulation. Perhaps they could question Hux."

He looks at her for a moment, his expression unreadable. "Very well," he says. "Phasma, would you remove Hux from his cell and bring him here at once?" She stands instantly, salutes, and leaves, flanked by two of her men.

There's a hubbub of gasps and murmurs from the assorted crowd of reporters and senators and representatives, but none of them are brave enough to ask Ren what he thinks he's doing.

Leia, however, is. "You want to bring him _here_? Now?"

"No better time than the present." As if on cue, Kira and Kymber step into the room, taking their places just behind Rey.

"I'm not sure this is the wisest course of action," Leia says.

"It's not. But it's faster than waiting around to vote on interrogating the man, and waiting for everyone to be in accord, and arguing over the details of what _precisely_ we want to know, so if you're uncomfortable, _General_ , I suggest you sit behind one of my Knights, and they'll be more than happy to ensure your safety." The Supreme Leader looks as if he's barely holding onto his sanity.

Rey exchanges a look with Leia that just says, _I'm so sorry_ , and Leia gives her one back that says, _think nothing of it, dear_. The doors open wide, and Phasma marches through, stepping aside so her men can drag Hux into the center of the floor. A general exclamation of disgust goes up from the audience, some covering their noses with the corners of sleeves or jackets or robes. Poe slips out the doors, his jacket pressed to his face.

Hux has never looked worse. His beard has grown out, and both it and his hair are matted, dull and lank. His clothing, a drab tunic and pair of loose trousers, are so filthy and stained with sweat and waste that the original color is a mystery. A miasma of stench surrounds him, and he peers up at Kira and Kymber wildly, his pale green eyes darting back and forth.

"Release him," Ren orders, sweeping around the table. Several reporters have already made a run for it, dashing into the fresher air of the anteroom. The brave ones who remain are snapping holos and holding their breath. The troopers obey, and Hux crashes down onto the floor, struggling to hold himself up with his arms as Ren squats in front of him, Kira and Kymber behind him. "Look at me," he orders, in a voice as cold as space, and Hux slowly, slowly raises his eyes to the Supreme Leader's. He can't bear it for long, and glances back over to the side, his eyes finding Kira.

"Kira," he says, recognizing her after a moment. "Kira Ren, yes?" She stares stonily over his head, but he continues, the picture of desperation, begging on his knees. "Please—tell him to show _mercy_ , I would never have harmed you, never—"

"You tried to kill her and Obri Ren with an Amaxine assassin," Ben—no, not Ben: everything about his bearing is screaming _Kylo Ren_ —says through his teeth. "For that alone, I should let them all tear you apart."

"Please," Hux whines, and he's groveling, pathetic. "Please—"

"You also had me stabbed, personally shot me, engaged in a conspiracy to overthrow my leadership, and had Qore Ren's throat cut. Give me one good reason why I shouldn't have you thrown out an airlock."

Hux cringes and shakes his head. "None, none. There are none."

"There are none, _what_?"

"S-Supreme Leader," Hux manages. "There are none, Supreme Leader."

"It's a pity," says Ren. "You might have been useful in your own way if you hadn't been blinded by ambition." He motions, and Kira and Kymber both step forward.

"No," gasps Hux, shaking his head. "No. Please—"

Kymber Ren reaches out, forcing him into acceptance, and Kira slams into his mind with no small amount of vengeance. She's not gentle, and Hux goes rigid, choking, sweat pouring down his face as she extracts chunk after chunk of treason, conniving, plans, memories, darkest desires and all his secrets. She links it all to Ren, who reads it as she does, and his face goes hard and cold as Hux begins to scream, a high, thin sound that ricochets off the walls.

Ren makes a motion, and both Kymber and Kira stop, stepping back. He grabs Hux by the throat and forces his face forward. "You," he says, very softly, "wanted to do _what_ to my Knights?"

Hux is crying, choking; his pasty face gone red, tears dribbling down his face. "No, _no_ —"

"I saw it. Oh, yes. I saw your memories, your thoughts." Ren squeezes, and Hux chokes. "You thought you'd violate my guards in every way you could possibly imagine. You wanted Obri Ren on her knees for you; you wanted Kira Ren—"

"Supreme Leader," General Crane interrupts, horrified. He rises from his seat, looking at the HoloNet cams, capturing every word. "I hardly think this is _appropriate—_ "

Ren makes a fist and Crane is forcibly slammed back down into his chair. He stays put, white-faced. Ren doesn't even acknowledge him. "You wanted to break into the prisoner's cell, didn't you, Armitage?" Behind him, still facing away, Rey goes slightly stiff-backed. "You thought I was moving too slowly. You thought _your_ methods would get you information." He releases Hux with disgust, and Hux sobs for air, cringing away from Ren on the floor. "No, I won't go into detail. As Crane so wisely points out, it's hardly appropriate, and the woman herself is present."

Hux looks up, abject shock on his face, and Rey turns around in her seat, fixing him with a look that Ren can only describe as…almost pity for him. "You," Hux gasps. "No. _No_ —she's the _Jedi_ —"

"Yes, she is," Ren confirms. "I'm sure you'll be more than thrilled to learn we are working together for a better New Republic."

Armitage's face turns a peculiar shade of puce. Kymber thinks he might be sick. "You're throwing _everything_ I worked for _away—_ "

"Yes," says Ren. "Gladly. If out of nothing more than spite. What a shame, knowing you killed your father for nothing at all. Not a pleasant feeling, is it? I would know."

Hux points with a shaking hand at Phasma, who's coolly watching the proceedings from across the table. "She did it. _She_ did it—"

"Oh, piss off," says Phasma. "I did it because you couldn't bear to get your precious hands dirty, and you know it."

"The Order—" Hux begins.

She scoffs. "I don't give a damn about the Order. I _do_ give a damn about my own skin. You were too power-hungry to see it."

"You were _nothing_ when the Order found you," Hux shrieks, trying to drag himself across the floor in rage. "You were a primitive _savage_ living with the Scyre of Parnassos—"

Phasma leaps to her feet, blue eyes burning. "I owe the Order _nothing,_ you slimy little—"

"Enough," says Ren in a voice colder than a frozen star, and they both stop, eyeing him warily. "I've gotten what I need. You'll be disposed of at my leisure, Armitage." He nods at the troopers. "Take him back to his cell."

Hux doesn't even bother trying to leave with dignity. He sobs the whole way out, dragged by the troopers, and the doors swing shut, leaving the room shocked and still.

"I suggest," says Leia carefully, "we call for a recess."

"Yes," says Ren, "I think we should. And someone send in the cleaning droids to freshen the place up."

 

* * *

 

"Supreme Leader," says Rey, coming to a halt in front of him in the anteroom.

He looks up, from his place between Qore and Charal. "Ah. Madam Jedi. You—" Dark eyes flick over her shoulder. "Your guards are not—"

"No, I asked Kira Ren and Kymber Ren to wait inside," she says. "I would like to speak to you. Alone."

A few holocams snap, and Ben fights the urge to destroy every cam in the place with a flick of his hand. "Very well. Qore, Charal, wait here."

"Yes, Master," they echo, and Rey turns her back, walking alongside Ben as more cams snap and click, capturing the two of them together as they exit the anteroom.

They've just heard the door shut behind them when Rey turns. "I want you to show Hux mercy," she blurts out.

Ben stares at her for a moment. "I'm sorry, I could have sworn you just said you wanted me to show the man who wanted to _torture_ you _mercy_ —"

"Ben," Rey hisses. "It's a wiser move. He can't even walk—"

"You have no _idea_ what was in his head," he growls, and she takes a step back, her eyes narrowed in defiance. Fine. Let Kylo Ren come out, let him snarl and lash out like a trapped animal; let him rage. "He _kidnapped_ Obri and Kira, and he tried to kill them, and he would have done something absolutely vile to both of them if Kira hadn't started talking about the Amaxines. He wanted—" Ren chokes on his own words, he's so _angry_ —"He was furious that I was protecting you, and he knew who you were, and he was going to do unspeakable things to you."

"Like what?" Rey demands.

"He—" Ren fights to control himself. "He had—he'd considered either dismembering you slowly to send you in parts back to the Resistance, or—or violating you. Or both."

Rey is very still, her eyes still narrowed. "You considered… _things_ about me that weren't exactly good, too. Or have you forgotten? I saw all of that when I pushed into your head, on the _Annihilation_. And I didn't try to murder you for it."

"I—" Ren shakes his head in sudden discomfort, face burning at the memory. "That's _different_ , I wasn't—I would have never done any of it."

Rey frowns. "Really. So Hux might not have done any of it either. What people _imagine_ isn't a crime. What someone thinks doesn't mean they need to be killed for it." Ren turns away, frustrated, but she grabs his arm as he turns. "I know you're angry, Ben, but if you kill him, you're sending a message to the galaxy that what someone _thinks_ can be found out, and they can be punished for it. Is that really how you want to come across?"

"You sound like my mother," he snaps.

"It's about time one of us did," Rey retorts. "If you wanted to execute Hux for treason, you should have done it before you tore up his mind in front of fifty reporters and journos. Now no matter what you _say_ you're executing him for, people are going to assume—"

"Let them assume," Ren says angrily. "I don't care. I'm leaving this behind—"

"Well, I'm _not_!" she shouts in frustration. "You can't just show everyone in the galaxy that, hey, the Force can be used to find out everything someone's ever thought about in their life and leave it at that! I'm the Jedi! I need people to trust _me_ , and I can't do that if you kill him, because people don't trust people they're afraid of!" He's silent, fuming. "Leia would have told you the same thing," Rey adds. "So would Crane. This is why we have votes and we _consult_ each other about things. I know it's boring and it takes forever, but it's necessary—"

Ren jerks his arm out of her hand. She's right, and he knows it. "Fine," he spits, seething as he whirls on her. " _Fine_. Between you and my mother I'm getting a patronizing lecture every time I turn around."

"If you thought ahead a few steps, you wouldn't need to be patronized!" Rey snaps.

"I do think ahead," he says sharply. "I left Obri and Kira behind to track the Amaxine, when I set up a decoy with Kymber—I'm perfectly capable of thinking ahead when it _matters_."

"But not when it comes to _me_ and my future. That doesn't matter." Rey takes a step back, her eyes full of hurt and anger.

"That is not what I meant, and you know it," he insists.

Her hazel eyes are blazing with fury. "Did it ever occur to you that maybe listening to someone having their mind torn open and pored over was not that _fun_ for someone who's undergone the same thing _twice_? Did you even notice Poe Dameron leaving when the doors opened, when the troopers brought Hux in?"

Ben is silent, completely blindsided. No. Of course not. It had never occurred to him, and why would it? He'd been tortured and hurt and manipulated by Snoke for so long that he was practically a bundle of exposed nerves under a hardened shell, anything setting him off—and the same went for the Knights, with the exception of perhaps Qore: he had thought they were all like him somewhere, calloused from pain. He's suddenly ashamed that he made Kira delve into Hux's mind; that he had forced her to look at everything Hux had imagined doing to her personally, to Obri, to all of them.

How many times had they suffered for him? Been hurt? Tortured? His mind flickers to the seen and the unseen: Qore's throat, a line of scar tissue wrinkling the smooth skin of her throat and the incomparable sadness in her golden eyes. Kira's face, the scar running from jaw to eye: the long, thin, almost invisible line on Talla's cobalt skin, up one arm; Obri's hardened defiance and spitting furies; Charal's constant gossip in an attempt to feel wanted; Kymber's distance from the rest, isolating herself often.

And their warmth, despite it all: Qore's smiling face as he loses in pyramid chess for the fifth time in a row, _let's try again_ , she says gently; Kira's willingness to do nearly anything for any of them; Talla's incessant cheerfulness; Obri's affection for them all so often displayed in physical gestures; the kindness that Snoke was never able to sear out of Charal (he remembers with sudden clarity a blanket, smelling of nerf-wool, tucked around his shoulders in the pilot's seat of a stolen ship), Kymber's gentle curiosity as she asks him what it's like to feel things she cannot.

"Well?" demands Rey.

Ben looks up. "No. I did not." To his horror, there are tears in his eyes, Rey's face going blurry and watery. "You—" he shoves a hand into his face, wiping away the tears—"you do matter to me. A great deal."

"Ben—" She steps forward, her eyes wide and full of sympathy, and he doesn't think he can stand another atom of pity, not now.

"Armitage Hux is under your jurisdiction, Madam Jedi" he says shortly. "Do with him whatever you think is appropriate." He doesn't wait for an answer before leaving, turning on his heel and striding for the outer door that leads to the main tunnel. _Don't come after me,_ he tells the Knights, listening to their surprise.

From there, he thinks, the hangars.

After that, only the Force knows.


	26. hello darling, welcome home

Armitage Hux stirs in a shock of terror as the door to his cell grates open with a squeak. He raises himself up on his arms, trying to make out the figure stepping into the dimly-lit cubicle he's been living in for the past two and a half months.

"Armitage," says a voice. It's a woman, a clipped Coruscanti accent like the one Phasma's adopted, but this voice is not Phasma: this one lacks the edge. Her voice is warm, lower-pitched than a woman's generally might be. "Armitage Hux?"

He squints. The light coming out from behind her is so bright that he can barely make out her shape, but he can see she's holding something in her hand. _It's a Knight of Ren coming to kill me,_ he thinks with sudden terror and drags himself away, back into the rear wall of the cell. "Don't," he pleads, and he hates how hoarse and weak his voice has become, but he doesn't care, doesn't care. The woman is coming closer, and he raises his arms to shield his face. "Please. Don't. What does he want? He knows everything—everything I have. He knows already. _Please._ Don't hurt me."

She's kneeling, on the filthy floor, but not too close to him. He peers over his sleeve and sees that the thing in her hand is nothing but a protein bar. "I'm not going to hurt you," she says, and extends the bar to him slowly. "Here." He recognizes her, then: not a Knight, but the Jedi woman, the one Ren had harbored, the one—

Hux shakes his head. "This is a trap, isn't it? He's sent you here to—poison me?"

Rey shakes her head. "No. It's food. I know they've had you on nutrition tabs and vitamin gruel. You've lost nearly ten kilos. If you can get this down, I'll get you fresh food. Real stuff."

His aching stomach convulses at the thought of fresh bread, maybe even real meat. Hux extends a hand and snatches the bar out of hers, ripping the wrapper off and shoving half of it into his mouth at once. It's so dry that he almost chokes, but he forces it down his throat, barely stopping to—

"Chew it," she advises. "Slowly. You'll get sick."  Hux forces himself to slow down. By the time it's gone, Rey's cracking open a thermal canteen and pouring him a cupful of something hot, steaming, and _oh_ —he recognizes the scent: it's tea, tarine tea. "Here," she says, and hands the cup to him. "Sip it carefully, it's hot."

He holds the cup as carefully as if it's made of an eggshell, and sips at the liquid. It's an acquired taste: bitter and fruity and full, and plenty of people don't care for it, but this woman, Rey, she's tracked some down and prepared it for him. "Who told you I liked tarine tea?" he asks hoarsely, his fingers trembling around the rim of the cup.

Rey sits back on her haunches. "I just asked around. Is it all right? I wasn't sure I let it steep long enough."

"It's perfect," he says, and inhales, the familiar scent curling around his face, before sipping at it again. "Ren—Ren didn't send you?"

"No," she says. "He's gone. He's left the base. I don't know if he's coming back soon, or at all."

Gone. Ren's gone. Perhaps his Knights have gone with him. Hux knows he should be plotting to escape, or fishing for more information, but all he feels is intense relief. He gulps the rest of the tea. "I don't suppose this is some kind of last meal for the condemned."

She shakes her head. "No. You're not going to die. Well, you will one day—we all do—but not by Ren's hand. You won't be executed."

Hux blinks, the empty cup slipping out of suddenly nerveless fingers. "What?"

"You're under my jurisdiction now, by Ren's order, and I'm not going to kill you." Rey folds her hands in her lap and looks at him. "I'm going to set you free on an Inner Rim planet and let you live out whatever remains of your days in peace."

His hands are trembling, and there's a horrible keening noise filling the cell. It takes him a moment to realize he's making it, the awful sobs ripping out of his throat. Mercy? It can't be mercy. It can't be. "It's a trick," he repeats, shaking his head. "A trick. You're lying—Ren sent you—"

"Armitage," Rey says, and reaches out a hand, nothing but pity in her eyes. "He didn't send me."

"I struck you," he sobs, rocking against the wall. "He saw my mind, he saw what I thought, he saw _everything._ Please, just kill me. Just _let_ me _die_." He punctuates the last words by slamming his head into the wall, and Rey hurries forward, gently pulling him away as he weeps.

"Nobody is going to kill you," she repeats gently as he begins to calm down. "Denon—would you like to live on Denon? It's a city-planet, a what-do-you-call-it—"

"Ecumenopolis," Hux says shakily, wiping his eyes.

"Right. Ecumenopolis. It's very nice." Rey pats him awkwardly on the shoulder. "If you're up for it, I've got clean clothes and a trip to the fresher next on my list."

Hux shuts his eyes tightly and fights to control himself. "I—yes. All right."

"Good." Rey stands, then twitches a finger. The grate to his cell creaks open again and a hoverchair floats in. Hux eyes it with some mistrust, but after he's sure that once he's on it he won't be restrained, he lets Rey help him into it. She's surprisingly wiry and strong, lifting his legs into place. "Right. Off we go. Don't fall out."

 

* * *

 

Deep in the jungles of Onderon, a grazing dalgo looks up in surprise as a speederbike streaks past it, deep into the vines and underbrush.

The speederbike is ancient, probably dating to the Clone Wars, a starbird painted on one flange. On the speederbike sits a man, gripping the throttle and clutch with black-gloved hands, weaving in and out of the thick trees in an impossibly fast dance.

The man has many names: Master. Apprentice. Ben Solo. Jedi-Killer. Supreme Leader. Kylo Ren. Son. At the moment, none of them matter. He's losing himself in the roar of the engines, the wind whipping past his face, his cloak snapping in the wind. Speed, and wind, and the exhilaration of movement: a song that's beckoned to humans since the first one learned to run, to saddle a larger animal and get on its back, to invent engines, vehicles, ships, starships: faster, stronger, higher, ever onward. None of the names matter at all. A name is a useless thing, a thing only used when others need it. Who are we when we are alone, only ourselves?

The man pulls back on the throttle and comes to a halt, swinging off the speederbike and landing with both solidly booted feet in the detritus of the jungle floor. The bike bobs slightly, and he walks into the hollow he's stopped at, a cavern created by a massive, half- fallen tree that must have toppled centuries ago. The roots form a roof, the floor is soft, dead leaf matter.

It has begun to rain again, the air hot and slow. The man takes a pack off the bike and throws a protective tarp across it to protect the delicate engines, then crawls into the hollow cavern of root and leaf, pushing aside trailing vines.

He sets a portable heat-lamp on the floor of the cave and fiddles with the controls, illuminating the interior: a space perhaps large enough for two humans to lie comfortably, but not stand. The man doesn't need to stand. He removes his cloak, his boots, his shirt, and his gloves; then sits cross legged on the floor of the cave, closing his eyes and breathing in a slow, measured cadence.

The light of the lamp flickers. Once, twice. It glows steady again, and the man doesn't seem to notice, so focused is he. Sweat rolls down his bare chest and off his forehead, as rain drips off the leaves outside.

Another man materializes beside him: mirroring his pose, clothed in simple, light brown garments. He is edged in a bluish glow like a child's drawing, outlined, or an electric charge before a lightning strike. "So, here we are," he says, in a soft voice that seems to be echoing through a vast space, but somehow also close, quiet, a whisper in the dark.

The first man opens his eyes. "Luke," he says, and the word is ground out between his teeth, his lips trembling with some repressed emotion. Anger, or fear? "I didn't… know if you would come."

"Of course I would," says Luke, and smiles gently. "After all, I never left you."

 

* * *

 

Rey sits near the door and keeps one eye on Hux as he showers. The communal fresher in what had once been the enlisted men's block of dormitories is the only fresher big enough to accommodate the hoverchair, and he had insisted on undressing and washing himself once she'd gotten him settled on a bench under a shower-head.

 _How's it going?_ asks Kymber Ren, brushing against her mind.

Rey sighs. She's still not quite on the same frequency as all of them, but she can communicate just fine with Kymber and Kira. She's sure it has to do with spending so much time with them. Close proximity to another Force-user, maybe? _It's fine. He's still washing. Might be a while, but I don't blame him. Anything from Ben?_

 _No._ Kymber sounds morose. _I'll leave you to it._ She shuts off the connection.

Rey muses to herself: she'd thought about it for a while and all things considered, it's best if Hux doesn't have to see any of the Knights again, ever. Even though Qore had volunteered to do something about the man's legs, Rey had chosen to ask Doctor Kalonia if anything might be done. All six of them caught flashes of what Kira had seen through the Force, and Rey's not sure if they'd disregard her orders to kill him or not as a result.

Hux groans. She glances over and sees him leaning forward, letting the steaming water pour off his back and arms from above. His arms are trembling slightly from the effort of keeping his torso upright, and Rey can see the knobs of his spine protruding from under his pasty skin, the ribs, the shoulder blades like wings. He hadn't had a very sturdy build to begin with. The man shivering under the water is so different from the sneering general who had slapped her across the face—this one is broken, trying to drag the pieces of himself back together. She can't imagine how Poe must have felt after Kylo had ripped into his mind. It was bad enough for her, a Force-user—but people who couldn't protect themselves, defenseless? Especially someone already half-broken in defeat?

"Are you all right?" she asks.

"Fine," he says distantly, and slips, toppling forward and off the bench. Rey gets up quickly and hurries over, shutting off the water and grabbing a towel from the shelf behind her. Hux is still trembling on the soaked floor, his hands curling around his shoulders in a protective gesture.

"Easy, now," says Rey, throwing the towel over her shoulder. She squats in the water, pulling Hux up to a sitting position and draping the towel around his shoulders. "When you're ready, you can hold on to me and I'll get you back—"

"I don't _need_ your help," he spits, and she can sense he's humiliated, angry and terrified, huddling under the towel. She bites back a sharp reply and just steps back, waiting. He looks up at her after a moment, and looks back down. "I'd like to get back onto the bench now."

"Of course," Rey says, and helps him up, tucking the towel tightly around him as he gets settled. "If you'd like to shave, I've got things."

Hux reaches up as if he's forgotten he has a beard, and rubs his fingers across it. "That won't be necessary," he says, as if from very far away. "Clothes, I think."

Rey takes them off the shelf and unfolds them as Hux mechanically dries himself off. "Basics, shirt, pants, and boots. You shouldn't need a jacket for now."

He's silent as she kneels, pulling his basics on for him. He's silent as he obeys her directions to lean forward, sideways, as she lifts his inert legs to put his trousers on, and as she gets them up around his waist. He takes the shirt and gets it on over his head, smoothing down the front automatically. "This will do," he says stiffly.

"You'll want to eat?" she asks. Hux nods, and Rey helps him back onto the hoverchair.

 

* * *

 

"I don’t understand," Charal says, nearly in tears. "How could he leave us at a time like this?"

"It's all right," says Qore, patting the other woman's back. "He'll be back soon enough. We were given orders to carry on and that's what we'll do."

"I'm sure he's only gone somewhere to clear his head," says Talla, trying to be cheerful. "It can't be easy for him, dealing with all this political stuff."

Kira enters the dormitory, holding a datapad. "Crane's been elected temporary representative of the—Charal, are you all right?"

"No," Charal manages, and blows her nose on a sani-wipe. "He's _gone_ , he's never coming back—"

"Don't be ridiculous, of course he's coming back." Kira crosses over and sits down next to Charal, on the other side of the sobbing Zabrak, and looks at Qore as she sets her datapad down. "Kymber and Obri are just sort of guarding the war room for now, and they're still in recess—Rey is minding Hux and—"

"Don't talk to _me_ about Hux!" Charal sobs, and shakes her head in fury. "I _saw_ what that bastard wanted to do to us, and to Rey—how could Kylo just leave him _here_ , and in Rey's hands? Doesn't he _care_ about us?"

"Of course he does," says Qore. "Shh. Of course he cares. But things are not always black and white. You heard what they spoke of—Rey and Ren. So. You know why he can't kill him now."

"Haven't we suffered enough?" Charal cries, and Kira's heart clenches. Qore shuts her eyes. "For him? For _Snoke_? I can feel it all—every day, all the pain, all the memories. Can't you?"

"Of course I can," says Qore gently. "We all can. But to live is to go on. To move past it. The past shapes the present, and to deny that is to deny life itself, the process of it. And it is different for us all, the time that we take and the way we choose to move past it."

"I never want to think about it," Charal says harshly, shaking her head and wiping her nose. "Never again. I want it to be gone forever."

"And that's where you're wrong. If we never thought about our pasts, how would they shape us? How would we learn? How would we grow, or settle into a new situation? You would be Tyoth still, and I Nayri, and we would have died at the Academy together. No. We must not let the past die, but we may let it dull and pass with time. Good or bad. The Force still moves through us all. We are one with it." Obri's dark face is shining with tear-tracks now. "All we are is the Force. The rest is only… stardust. Raindrops falling down. Liminal. Temporary. But the Force, Charal. The Force is forever, and we will be forever with the Force."

Charal curls up, knees to her chest, and cries as if her heart is breaking. "I was glad," she sobs, "that Snoke died. I was _glad_ —"

"All of us were," says Talla, kneeling down in front of her and patting at Charal's knees. "We _all_ were. He was horrible."

"But we weren't brave enough to say it before he died. Is Ben horrible, too?" Charal chokes out. "If _he_ dies, will we be glad?"

"No," says Qore, stroking the woman's hair. "No. Hush. If Ben dies, I think the only people with more grief than us will be Leia and Rey."

Charal wipes her cheeks. "Rey loves him, doesn't she?"

"Very much, and he loves her," says Kira. Charal shuts her eyes and presses her lips together, tears leaking down her cheeks. "What's wrong? What is it?"

Charal shakes her head, and bursts into tears again. Qore makes a few gentle noises and pulls her into her arms, patting her on the back and rubbing her arms. "Shh, shh. It's all right. I think I know."

"I karked it up," she wails, muffled, into Qore's neck. "I couldn't keep my stupid m-mouth shut and I t-told about the k-kiss and she was angry and I didn't mean it, I d-didn't _mean it_ —"

"You love her, don't you?" asks Qore, still rocking her. The only answer is a tragic little whimper, and Talla scoots forward again, her hands reaching up to pat Charal's arms in an attempt at consolation.

"It's all right! That was _ages_ ago, and I'm sure she's not angry _still,_ and at least you didn't go all sideways and try to kill her on accident—"

"I j-just want her to be _happy_ , and it's stupid—I'm stupid—" Charal lifts her face up, tear-stained.

"You're not stupid," says Kira heatedly. "Don't say that." Charal wipes her eyes with the heel of her hand. "Remember when—" The words stick in her throat. "Remember when Snoke told you that your greatest weakness was your kindness? How he tried to crush it down?" Charal nods, sniffing. "He was wrong. Your greatest _strength_ is your kindness, and your love, and—you gossip way too much but that's neither here or there—"

Talla snorts, and Charal manages a half-smile. "I'm working on it," she protests, and abruptly leans over, flinging her arms around Kira's neck and hugging her tightly.

Kira returns the embrace, cheek pressed against Charal's. "Whatever ends up happening," she says firmly, "we'll be together. All of us."

"Who else am I going to watch _Offworlder_ with?" Talla interjects. "Dameron?"

"No, he's Kira's," says Qore teasingly.

Kira releases Charal. " _Honestly_ , Qore, I don't know what you mean. He's just a friend."

"Well, he looks at you like Talla looks at marsh-tuber." Qore grins, her golden eyes gleaming.

"He does not!" Kira rolls her eyes. "I have to get back to the war room. _Some_ of us have things to do."

"Like a certain dashing pilot?" Talla inquires, wide-eyed.

" _Talla!_ "

 

* * *

 

Rey sits across from Hux in the empty canteen, sipping a cup of blue milk while he devours a second tray of food. It's only Mon Calamari stir-fried rice and fish, steamed vegetables, greens, and hot rolls with purple jam, but he attacks the stuff like he's never going to eat again.

She doesn't bother telling him to slow down. He finishes, sits back, and delicately wipes his mouth with a napkin. Light green eyes flicker across her, trying to gauge something. She'd once thought of his eyes as cold, calculating: now they just look washed-out, tired. "Why are you doing this?" he asks her.

Rey shrugs. "You're not the only person who's been subjected to Ren's, ah, interrogation methods."

Hux seems to mull over that for a moment, then looks away, as if he can't quite force himself to make eye contact. "You—when he questioned you. I assume it wasn't a ruse?"

"Well, about half a ruse and half not," Rey tells him. "It's hard to explain. He only looked at surface things, specific things. He didn't…do to me what he did to you, or to Poe Dameron."

"Of course not," says Hux bitterly. "Not even on Starkiller, I'll wager."

"I—no," says Rey.

"He _cares_ for you," he says then, and it's almost a sour concession, the way the words spill off his tongue. "He cares for you a great deal."

"I know," she says simply.

Pale eyes flash back up, then back to his empty plate. "I don't believe I'll be requiring any more food."

"I'll take you to your new rooms," Rey tells him, standing. "In the morning, you'll be sent to medical, and after that I think General Crane wants you to make a statement to the HoloNet before we transport you to Denon."

Hux sits back and maneuvers his hoverchair to follow her. He clears his throat, and she looks back, just before the door.

"Rey. Thank—thank you," he says, sounding like the words taste bitter in his mouth.

She nods and opens the door, letting him pass.

 

* * *

 

Ben Solo is half-awake, dozing lightly on his side in the protective cover of his shelter. His tunic makes a decent enough sleeping pad, and the portable lamp illuminates the inside with a gentle, golden glow, keeping the dark at bay.

His conversation with Luke had lasted for hours, but somehow been all too short. Ben doesn't want to think too much in detail about it all, and his exhausted mind is making his memory fuzzy, but he knows they spoke of many things: apologies made on both sides. Explanations. Tears. Grief, and laughter too.

He slips into a half-dream, faces swimming around: General Crane hands him a holocam and asks him to smash it, please; his mother chides him about reading all her Chandar Voss books, because there won't be any left to give away; his father lifts him into his lap and lets his hands curl around the controls of the _Falcon_ , and he says with a smile, _One day you might be an even better pilot than me, kid. What do you think about that?_

Obri Ren hands him her helmet and says very seriously that she has to go punch a wall, because _Offworlder_ is on and really, she shouldn't be up at this hour. Talla Ren leans into his face and giggles, singing a lullaby from Ryloth and fixing his hair, her tongue stuck out in concentration. Qore Ren ties a red ribbon to his wrist and tells him he needs to win the next round of pyramid chess, because she can't let him win again or she'll be mute forever. Charal Ren sits in a vast collection of ancient artifacts and proudly tells him she's catalogued them all, and would he like another crystal? Kymber Ren smiles and extends her hand to him, saying _aren’t you glad I wore the armor under my shirt, Master? Come quick, the night is singing, and you can't be late_. And last, always last, Kira Ren, takes the red ribbon and leads him to Rey, tying the other end around Rey's wrist, and she sternly says, _now remember, if she's afraid, let go._

Rey is dressed exactly like she was the first time he saw her: sand-colored bindings, wraps, shapeless scavenger clothing, her hair in three knots down the back of her head like the knobs of a spine. She looks at him and smiles, light pouring out, and he pulls her to him with the ribbon, until she's pressed against him: elbow to elbow, chest to thigh, and she says, _you're not alone._

He's glass again, the light shining through him like a wound, and Rey is whispering his name, his name, his name.

"Ben?"

He opens his eyes, and finds himself on the ground, lying on his side, and Rey is kneeling in the mouth of his shelter, his cave. "Rey," he says hoarsely. He can't remember what he was dreaming about, or why he has tears on his cheeks. _Am I still dreaming?_

She crawls in, her face half-in shadow from the lamp. "You're crying," she whispers. "Are you all right?"

Ben reaches out with the arm he's not lying on. He doesn't ask how she found him, or what time it is. None of it matters. "Please," he whispers, and she comes to him, lying down and wrapping her arm around his bare back, pressed together, chest to knee with her head tucked under his chin. He can't speak, so he just holds her, feeling her heartbeat and her breathing; listening to the rain patter down outside.

"I felt Luke," she says softly after a minute or two. "You spoke to him." A sob catches in Ben's throat, and he buries his face in her hair, tears sliding down his face. "Ben, you're trembling," Rey says, and strokes his hair, his shoulder, his back. "It's all right. It's going to be all right."

"Please. Stay." His voice barely sounds like his voice: it's open and naked, shaking.

"Of course I will," Rey tells him, and kisses the bare skin just at his collarbone, tasting salt there.

"I shouldn't have left you alone," Ben murmurs, and cradles her tightly, his hand cupping her soft hair, the back of her head. "I'm sorry."

"I wasn't alone," she whispers. "Neither were you. And neither of us will have to be alone again."


	27. a sky full of stars

**ONE YEAR LATER**

The glass dome of the reception hall is multifaceted, glittering like a thousand stars overhead. Senators, aides, representatives, various monarchs, and reporters mill around, all dressed in their best, talking and holding glasses of iridescent champagne, glittering tonic, green wine, and Corellian brandy.

The Supreme Leader, who will cease to be known by such a title in about half an hour, stands like a statue by the appetizer table, holding a glass of water in his black-gloved right hand. He's wearing his customary black: boots, trousers, tunic; a high-collared, sleeveless cloak, longer on the left, with a single panel of orange peeking out from under the right shoulder and the silver buckle on his belt the only exception to the color scheme.

"Mast—sorry, I mean, _sir_ ," says Tyoth Ren Charal, at his left hand. "I think I just saw General Organa walk in with her entourage, over by the main entrance."

He perks up almost immediately, setting his glass down and striding through the crowd, Kira Ren Keida at his right. "Goodness," she says, slightly teasing, "you'd think you were waiting all night for _someone_ to arrive."

"You can _kindly_ keep your observations—" he begins, and stops short, nearly crashing into a waiter who hurries out of the way politely.

There's his mother, dressed in white and slate-gray robes. There's Connix and Dameron and Finn and Tico and D'Acy and all the rest, spotless in their mess dress, but he barely sees them at all, because _she_ is walking with his mother, smiling, and she's—

She's—

"Oh, Rey looks _beautiful,_ " says Tyoth Ren Charal with some longing.

Beautiful isn't even a word strong enough. Ben just stares at her, not even caring that about a hundred and nine HoloNet cams are busily snapping away. He hasn't seen her in six months, one week and two days, not since they all departed Onderon with the finalized treaty copies safely on their encrypted datapads. After that, it had been mostly two-minute hologram sessions and quick messages through the Net while they both focused on their respective duties—Rey's had been helping Leia organize this gala and working on a relations committee about Force-sensitivity, along with becoming something of a celebrity, and Ben's had been mostly communicating with Finn on a professional level to handle the exodus of troopers and signing off on Crane's various proposals and orders, trying to throw himself into his work so he wouldn't have time to daydream or get morose—and of course, the presence of his Knights had helped, even though now they were called the Republic Guard.

"No more masters," he had told them, sitting on the floor and facing them all. "Take back your names, any names. You are no longer Knights of Ren, and you'll be free to go where you please as soon as I step down."

"We'll stay with you," Obri had declared, and everyone else had nodded.

" _You're_ only staying around for Phasma," Qore had said, laughing. "But I agree. We stay with you until the end."

So they had stayed, all of them, and taken their old names back. Nayri Ren Qore is standing at the entrance; Jana Ren Obri is at the side door, having an animated conversation with Phasma, who's in her mess dress and looking extremely imposing; Lahani Ren Kymber stands to the left emergency exit, and Khaylia Ren Talla guards the podium steps: all of them keeping an eye on the crowd for any attempts to disrupt the events of tonight. Obri had found a tailor to make her a smartly cut black pantsuit, and the rest are in evening gowns of various styles, black and white and gray. Only Charal and Kira wear the robes of the Guard: black on red—the others are doing their best to blend into the crowd.

Blending in is _not_ , apparently, what Rey had in mind when she dressed for the evening. She's in some pleated, almost sheer gray thing with draping, long sleeves of the same material, and the whole gown is embroidered with spangled, glittering things like crystals that reflect the lights and makes her look like a walking night sky. She turns to say something to Finn, who's behind her, and Ben's mouth goes dry as he realizes the gown has no back, lean muscle from shoulder to waist exposed.

He senses some similar consternation from Tyoth Ren Charal. "Tyoth," he says stiffly, "will you please go get Rey a drink?"

"Yes, sir," she says quickly, and hurries away, her cloak swinging.

Ben approaches and nods to his mother. "General," he says.

"Good evening, Ben," she says, smiling. "My, the place looks lovely. Whose idea was the banners?"

"Mine," says Ben stiffly. "I thought a redesign was in order for the treaty."

"They're nice," Leia says with approval.

They really are nice banners. An officer on the _Annihilation_ who turned out to have a remarkable propensity for graphic design had taken the First Order hexagon and the Resistance starbird symbol and combined them, the starbird emerging from the interior circle of the Order, everything in orange and black and white. The banners hang around the room, two flanking the podium where the Supreme Leader will give his speech in about half an hour, the treaty will be signed, and he will step down, relinquishing his duties for good and turning command over to D'Acy.

"Thank you," he says, feeling as if he has a Rathtar in his belly.

"And of course," says Leia, sensing his awkwardness, "you remember Rey."

Ben finally makes himself look at her, and Rey smiles. Her hair is shining, done carefully in something similar to her triple-knotted hairstyle, the one that makes her instantly recognizable to every child or cub watching on tonight's HoloNet broadcast. Someone's put makeup on her, but it hasn't covered her freckles. "Hello, Ben," she says.

"Ah. Uh. Hello," he says, trying not to stare. "You—you look—"

"Drink?" asks Tyoth, elbowing in with a glass of rainbow champagne.

"Oh, _yes_ ," says Rey, beaming, and takes the glass. "Thank you, Charal." She sips it and wrinkles her nose. "I'll never get used to bubbly drinks. It's like static in your sinuses."

"There…are more options," Ben says, extremely awkwardly. _What is the matter with me?_ "I can—I can walk you over to…the food?"

"Please," says Rey. "I'm starving." He puts his elbow out and she tucks her hand into it, and Tyoth and Keida fall into step behind them, cams clicking and snapping as they make their way over to the snacks table.

After Rey has collected an assortment of stuffed mushroom caps, vegetable soup, green cheese, and various other foods, they find an empty table and stand at it, sampling everything. "I'm so glad this is almost over," Ben says, nibbling on a cracker with creamy green cheese spread across it.

"You and me both," she says, swallowing. "At least you didn't have anyone trying to convince you to show up to a gala in dirty old clothes."

"What?" Ben blinks.

"Yeah, my stylist—I have a _stylist_ now, imagine that—told me that it would make an impression of humility and stand out in the room as a 'symbol of asceticism'." Rey rolls her eyes. "I told her I'd spent my whole life living on half-portions and wearing filthy rags and if she thought I was going to throw away the chance to wear something pretty and look nice for once she could think again."

"You do. You look nice, I mean," he says. "And between you and me, if you ask Tyoth to get you a thermo-box you could probably take most of this food home."

"Ooh, snacks for _days_ ," Rey says, her mouth full. "Have you decided where you're going to live after?"

"Well—wait, Mother didn't tell you?"

Rey gulps down her food. "Tell me what?"

Ben sets his glass of water down. "Apparently—well, you know she was a princess."

"Yes," says Rey, narrowing her eyes.

Ben coughs. "Yes, well. Ah. Someone did some digging and it turns out her father—her adoptive father, I mean, Bail Organa, and her mother, Queen Breha, owned an account in her name and nobody knew about it for decades—I mean, not that anyone would, nobody ever told Mother, it was apparently supposed to be a surprise for her twenty-fifth birthday and Alderaan was—you know—"

"Ben, what exactly are you _saying_?"

"I'm saying there was a lot of money in that account. Interest rates accrue over several decades, and, uh, Mother's giving it to me. Says she doesn't need it, so why shouldn't I take it to start a new life? I've bought an apartment on Chandrila. It's…it feels the most like home." He flashes a glance up at her, and she's just gaping, her mouth wide open. "I thought Mother would tell you."

"She—" Rey blinks, and shuts her mouth. "She asked me once or twice if I'd like to live on Chandrila. I thought she was just—just throwing around ideas, but—"

Ben turns scarlet. " _Force_ —"

"Sir, I think in about three minutes they're going to start," says Keida Ren Kira, tapping him on the arm. "Perhaps we should move toward the front?"

Rey nods quickly. "Right."

Ben feels as if his heart has dropped into her stomach. "Rey—" She hesitates, turning, eyes bright and inquisitive. "I. I, uh. Do you want— _would_ you like to live on Chandrila?"

Rey takes in a soft little breath and flushes up to her ears. "I—I—well—"

"Over here, please," says an aide, and Ben has no choice but to turn around and walk away from Rey, up the steps to the platform and the podium. Crane and Phasma are already waiting, both saluting as he ascends. Talla—Khaylia—brushes up against his mind with a reassuring little flicker as he passes her, and he makes it to the podium, then turns to face the assembled crowd, who have all gone silent, waiting for him to speak. Someone rings the signal bell, and he waits until the echo has faded before he starts to speak.

"Citizens of the New Galactic Republic," he begins. He hates giving speeches, even speeches he writes himself, like this one, but Rey's presence is, as always, calming. She glitters below him like a star, looking up and smiling. He straightens his shoulders. Perhaps this won't be a mess after all.

"This is a momentous occasion for us all. For the last fifteen years, the First Order and the Resistance have been locked in a war that threatened to tear apart the New Republic. Billions of lives were lost in that conflict. Economies were shattered. The Senate, which governed the New Republic, was destroyed by the First Order, as we all know, in a tragic loss of life." The audience murmurs, and several cams whir and click. Ben plugs on. "The treaty we sign today ensures that we may be able to work toward peace. The Resistance and the Order will end the war, on the conditions that both parties have set forth. They are as follows."

He clears his throat and begins to recite the terms, which are burned into his brain after weeks of negotiations.  It takes a long time to rattle them all off, and when he's done with that section, Talla darts up, her dark gray gown rustling, to hand him a glass of water. He drinks deeply, then turns to the low table to the left, upon which the treaty itself lies, ready to be signed, the image projected on a large screen to the audience. It's real parchment, hideously expensive, but carrying a gravitas a datapad wouldn't. Leia, Rey, Poe Dameron, and Commander D'Acy climb the steps, facing Crane and Phasma, and wait on the platform behind him. The document must legally be signed by two witnesses from each party in addition to the representatives, and Kira and Charal wait patiently by his side.

He picks up the stylus waiting for him. Carefully, he leans down and signs in an elegant, forceful script: _His Lordship—_

Here, he hesitates, and the room seems to inhale as one. Should he write _Ren,_ or _Supreme Leader_? No, he's giving up those names. They'll never be spoken again if he can help it.

Ben resumes writing. _Ben Organa Solo._

The room breathes again, and he straightens, then hands the instrument to D'Acy. The older woman steps forward briskly, offering him a nervous little smile, then signs her own name: _General Larma D'Acy_.

General Crane steps forward and signs his title and name in precise little letters, then Leia steps forward, signing in a beautifully careful, graceful handwriting that makes Crane's signature look like a child's: _Leia Organa Solo, Princess of Alderaan._ Not _general,_ of course: she's given it up. Ben looks at her hands, and wonders again at how fragile they look: papery skin, veins.

Leia turns and hands the pen to Rey. "You go on and witness, dear," she says.

Rey steps forward, so close to Ben that he catches a scent of perfume: something spicy and floral as she bends to sign her name carefully in shimmerink. _Rey of Jakku, Jedi._ The letters are slightly cramped, and she wrinkles her brow as she tries to keep the letters on the line—she's clearly practiced, but the motions are still stilted.

Rey stands and hands the stylus to Phasma, who signs—she then hands it over to Charal, who confidently signs _Tyoth Ren Charal_ before handing the pen to Dameron. He strides over, superbly confident in his mess dress, and signs _Commander Poe Dameron_ before capping the pen and presenting it to Kira.

Their fingers brush, and Kira's dark eyes snap to Poe's, a flush suffusing her cheeks. He winks, and both Ben and Charal sense her flustered emotions for a moment before she collects herself and signs in even and smooth strokes on the last line—the one Charal left blank, the one closest to Ben's name.

 _Keida Ren Kira_ , it says, and she hands it to Rey, who turns to the audience and holds it aloft. "The war is over," she says, and the audience bursts into applause and cheers, a hundred holocams going off, whirring and snapping.

 

* * *

 

In the aftermath of the signing, when the drinks are flowing and everyone is celebrating, Rey is having an animated conversation with two senators and a protocol droid. At once, they all stop talking. She turns, but she already knows who it is by the looks on their faces—even the droid looks wary, if that's possible for a droid.

"Supr—I mean, Ben," she says awkwardly. "Sorry. That'll be a hard habit to break." The senators chuckle and move away as Ben makes a little expression of amusement and steps closer.

"I don't suppose you'd mind stepping out of the room for a moment with me?" he murmurs in her ear.

Heat suffuses her body. "Oh. No, of course not."

He extends an arm and she tucks her hand into the crook of his elbow, nodding at people who acknowledge them as he sweeps her across the room and out the door. Qore smiles knowingly as they depart, shifting to the side in her black and white gown. "Don't stay out too late," she warns.

"Yes, thank you," Ben says, and they step into the outer hallway, sparsely populated with couples having conversations or milling about to look at the art on the walls. None of them notice Ben or Rey. He directs Rey silently to one of many private alcoves containing a cushioned seat, and yanks the cord to drop the curtain for privacy. A glowlamp flickers on, and he sits, pulling her down with him.

Rey's hands are roaming under his cloak almost instantly, her mouth pressed to his, and while he welcomes it nearly more than anything, he didn't quite mean for it to happen so—

"I _missed_ you," she pants, climbing into his lap, and his hips rock up toward her, his hands automatically dragging across her bare back, an expanse of warm, smooth skin and Maker, what he wouldn't give to rip this dress off right _now_. "Ben—"

"Wait, wait," he forces out, and presses his forehead to hers, shaking slightly. "Wait. I want—we were talking. Talking about Chandrila."

"What about it?" Rey asks, half-breathless.

He reaches up and cups her face in his hands, trying not to smear anything on her face. "I—we never—do you want to live on Chandrila?"

There's a dreadful pause, and Rey prompts, "With you?"

"With me?" he adds quickly, blushing.

Rey makes a sound like a snort. "Of _course_ I do, you laser-brained old—"

That's enough for Ben. He covers her mouth with his, kissing her hard, and the rest of her sentence is lost in a muffled squeak and then a moan as she wraps her arms around his shoulders. He breaks for air. "It's a beautiful planet. Really. There are oceans. I'll take you to the Silver Sea—"

"You can tell me all—about it—later," Rey pants, and drags him back to her face, her fingers buried in his hair. " _Mmm_ —"

Ben moves her bodily over, into the back of the curved bench. He leaves her mouth with a little sigh and kneels between her thighs, hands gently moving the delicate fabric aside, exposing her lean legs. "I missed you, too," he says darkly, and Rey shudders, biting on her bottom lip as he runs his big hand up the inside of her thigh. She's been ready since he walked up to her in the reception hall, and he wants nothing more than to make her come on his mouth again, but a very small part of his mind is advising that it might not be a good idea, especially since not even Force-cloaking can quite hide a certain amount of noise, and he knows from prior experience that Rey's possessed of an _extremely_ healthy pair of lungs—

She makes a whining little noise, and he decides to compromise. Heaving himself up, he lets his right hand slip between her thighs and cradles her head with the left. "Can you be quiet?" he murmurs.

"No," Rey says, grinning.

"I—ah, what's this?" Ben moves his hand further in, and narrows his eyes. "You forgot something, I see."

"Well, according to my stylist it ruins the lines of the dress, so I— _Ben_ —"

Her basics aren't the only thing that's missing. "Are you—" He flicks her skirt to the side, exposing her, and stares in fascination. "You're—you've shaved everything off."

"I—yes," she says, as if daring him to say something about it. "I'm trying new things."

"Hmm." Ben presses his fingers down into a tender-looking spot, and she wriggles, squeaking. It's really somewhat novel—he can see everything, no guesswork needed. "I think—" His thumb presses lightly down at the very top, and Rey jerks, a little gasp escaping. "I think this will be suitable."

"if you don't—get your _fingers_ —" Rey's hands are shaking, one clamped into the velvet upholstery and one tangled in his hair, and her inner thighs are slick, and Ben's fingers finally creep down and she groans as he presses his blunt index finger into her, easing in, past the second knuckle. Force, his fingers are _big_ , but it's still not enough. "More," she demands, and he slips his thumb into her mouth as he withdraws his finger. She whines in protest around his thumb, but he comes back, pressing _both_ the index and the middle finger in, and she shudders as he curls them, pushing against that horribly sensitive spot just in the front. " _Mmph_!" Her legs jerk up reflexively.

"I feel it," he whispers, and sets a steady rythmn, press, curl, pull. He presses his mouth to her right temple, breathing softly against her cheek, and he smells like leather and something faint—cologne?— and something he'd been drinking, something sweet. Her right sleeve has slipped off her shoulder entirely, and his chest presses against her exposed breast.  "Force, you're _beautiful_. I thought I was going to lose it when you walked in. You look like a sky full of stars. A crystal cave. A treasure. _My_ treasure."

Tears gather in Rey's eyes, and she moans, her tongue slipping across his thumb. His fingers are making a steady, slick noise inside her, and she's going to die, she just knows it, if she doesn't come right _now_ —

Ben leaves her cheek and bends down, his mouth grazing the curve of her exposed breast. Rey squeaks around his thumb, and he kisses at the underside, the delicate skin there, then moves up, his lips closing down on her nipple and his _tongue_ is on her, and his teeth nip so, so delicately, a jolt going straight to her core, and it's such a strange and new sensation that she crashes over the edge all at once, shaking apart and crying out as he covers her mouth so as not to alert anyone outside.

When Rey's back in one piece, she dazedly opens her eyes to find him smiling at her. "Oh, hello," she says, and sits up, shyly pulling her sleeve back into place.

"Hello," he says, still smiling. "You able to walk?"

"Shut up," she says, grinning.

"Because, you know, I've got a speeder waiting outside, and a nice hotel room not too far from here. Well, not really a room, per se; more like a suite of rooms." Ben reaches forward and tucks a loose lock of hair back into her coif with a critical eye.

"Oh, do you?" asks Rey.

"I do. And if you're amenable, I'd like to take you to bed. Properly. In an actual bed. And then in every room in the suite."

Rey's brain sort of stops working. "Oh?"

"Are you?"

"Am I what?"

"Amenable."

"Oh. Yes. _Yes_."

"Good." He extends his hand, standing up. "Shall we, Madam Jedi?"

Rey stands and takes his hand. "We shall indeed, your Lordship, or whatever it is you're going by now."

"Just Ben," he says softly.

"Then we shall indeed, Ben."

 

* * *

 

"You think they're going to make it?" asks Jana Ren Obri, watching the sleek black speeder streak off into the skies of Coruscant through the window in the hall.

Phasma shrugs. "I hope so. At least he's not walking around like he's got a stick up his arse anymore."

"Mmm." Obri slips her hand discreetly into Phasma's—the other woman doesn't care for public displays of affection whatsoever, but in the dimly lit hall, no one can see. "I don't suppose you'd, uh, like to come back to our place?"

"I'll consider it." Phasma turns and gives her a ghost of a shy smile. "I don't suppose you can use your Force to hide us for a moment?"

"I've been doing that since we walked out," Obri tells her. "You _did_ say you wanted to be discreet."

Phasma leans down, her mouth covering Obri's, and Obri stands on her toes to reach better. Her hands find Phasma's hair and tangle in the platinum-blond curls, her tongue slipping across her lower lip as the taller woman yanks her closer, the strength in her body sending a thrill through Obri's entire being.

"Hey, don't start without me," says Khaylia Ren Talla, tapping on Obri's shoulder.

"Of course not, sweetheart," says Phasma, smiling and flushed. "Why don't we—ah—"

"Go home," supplies Obri helpfully.

"Yes. Home."


	28. epilogue

EPILOGUE

* * *

 

**In this month's edition of the Coruscant Cosmopolitan, publishing house Lyric Cluster is proud to present an excerpt from its newest upcoming romance holobook, the much-anticipated "Lair of the Lord: The Knights' Kiss", by emerging author Mopane Dero. Presales are already flying off shelves, as this promises to be the most tantalizing read of the year. Pick your copy up next month wherever Lyric Holobooks are sold!**

* * *

 

_The great hall, deeply cut into the mountains of Mor, was dark and foreboding: banners hung from every pillar as the lone knight walked up to the mighty throne, upon which sat the Lord of Darkness. He was a man tall and broad of build, his scarred, strangely handsome face and shining black hair, like ink, gleaming in the firelight. "Kneel," he commanded, his voice low and seductive, dark and cruel all at once._

_"My lord," said the knight, and took off her shining black helmet, revealing the most beautiful face in the galaxy. Shining coils of red hair fell to her waist: her eyes were golden-brown, and her armor, glistening black, only served to set off her beautiful skin, smooth and soft. "I have returned from the mission you have sent me on, and emerged victorious."_

_"Indeed you have," said the Lord of Darkness. "You will be rewarded for your loyalty and your duty to me. Come. Sit at my feet, Ki Narre."_

_The knight obeyed, sitting at his feet, and her comrades, all four, came into the mighty hall from the doors: all as beautiful as she was, and just as deadly. "My lord," said Ayah Narre, a pale-skinned human with long, white hair and a sweet smile, "what do you command?"_

_"I command you to serve your lord," he said, in a voice as low and dangerous as the sea. "Ki Narre, choose who will serve me with you."_

_Ki Narre stood, looking at all her comrades. "I cannot choose," she whispered breathlessly, turning to him with a great pleading in her beautiful eyes. She fell to her knees, her hair swinging about her face like fire. "I would serve you myself, and have no other; oh, please, my lord, allow me to do it!"_

_"Such devotion must be rewarded," he purred, leaning forward. "Anja Narre will serve you…while you serve me."_

_Anja stepped out of the women, a striking girl with a wealth of curling, blond hair, blue eyes, and sweet freckles scattered across her face. "I will gladly serve you, Ki Narre."_

_Ki Narre's heart nearly stopped, but she nodded, blushing, and knelt before her lord. Her deft fingers undid the clasp of his trousers, and his manhood sprang free, thick as her wrist and long as her hand. Her heart nearly quailed, but she bent down, her mouth closing around the head of him, glistening and pink in the golden light._

_The lord let out a soft sound, his hands in their gauntlets gripping the arms of his mighty throne. "Ah, Ki Narre, if your body is as slick and tight as your sweet mouth, I would be a fool to not keep you jealously by my throne forever." Ki Narre shut her eyes, and slid down, down, down, until her lips pressed against his very body, his mighty cock swallowed down her pretty throat._

_Anja Narre knelt behind Ki Narre and swept aside the other knight's robes, her golden head disappearing as she lay on her back, mouth pressed to Ki Narre's slick and dripping cunny. Ki Narre cried out, her throat vibrating around the lord's manhood, and he barely contained himself. "Anja, make her wail," he commanded, closing his eyes in pleasure as Anja obeyed, Ki lost in throes of delight as she clung to his robes in desperation, working her throat and mouth to please him. "Yes, yes. My good and loyal Knights."_

_On the floor before him, the sight of the three had inflamed the others to great passions. The other three women were entangled together, locked in the heat of kisses: Reyo Narre was pressing hungry kiss after kiss to the breasts of Ayah Narre, who had her gentle mouth between the dark legs of Larch Narre. Sweat glistened off their bodies, moans filling the hall, and the Lord of Darkness fought to not disgrace himself at the sight._

_Anja's hands, creeping up Ki's backside, found the round, plump globes of her ass, and squeezed hard. Ki groaned around his cock, wriggling, and the motion sent him over the edge entirely. He clung to her crimson hair, moaning, as he emptied himself into her mouth, trembling. She swallowed it down, and had just lifted her head, his cock pressed to her cheek, when she climaxed, eyes shut tight and trembling as Anja's mouth brought her to the end. The very sight made him hard again, and he groaned._

_"Let me, my lord," whispered Ayah, who had extricated herself from the tangle of bodies upon the ground. She straddled his lap, her body white as snow against his black robes, and sank down upon him as Ki Narre raised herself up, kissing the shoulders of the beautiful girl as the two of them rocked together as one, Ayah's hands gripping the back of the mighty throne._

* * *

 

"Who _writes_ this Huttshit?" Ben demands, staring in horror at their copy of the _Coruscant Cosmopolitan_. 

"What? I kind of liked it." Rey's voice is distant, emerging from their kitchen. "Are you going to help me with these crepebreads or not? Keida and Nayri are going to be here in ten minutes with your mother and I can't get this dough to rise."

Ben groans and gets to his feet, crossing the living room of their apartment to get into the spacious kitchen, which looks like a bomb has hit it. "You _liked_ it?"

"Sure." Rey turns around at the sink. There's flour smudged on her nose and all over the apron she's tied on. "I mean, it's obviously ridiculous trash, but—I'd be lying if I said I didn't like the…uh, idea of the throne being used as, uh, well." She turns pink.

Ben snorts. "That would have been impractical. That thing was so uncomfortable I could barely sit in it, let alone have _sex_ in it." He ties on his own apron.

Rey grins. "I snagged an advance copy. In chapter eight, the Lord of Darkness steals away a beautiful woman from the Hapes Cluster to be his queen and even _more_ orgies ensue."

He blinks. "How did you get an advance—"

Their hologram communication system chimes, and Rey darts over to answer. Kymber Ren's face appears, her white hair long and cut into a shoulder-length bob now, and she grins. " _Rey! I'll be fast, I know you're expecting company. Did you get my present?"_

"Yes!" Rey beams and turns, rummaging through the junk drawer, the refrigerator, the cooling board, and the cupboard before finding what she's looking for. She holds up the recipe chip. "It's perfect! We're making crepebread right now from it."

 _"Oh, good!"_ Kymber smiles. " _Oh, and…did you happen to pick up this month's Coruscant Cosmo?"_

"We _did_ ," says Rey, grinning and eyeing Ben, who looks lost. "And Mopane Dero was kind enough to send me an advance copy. It's _hilarious_."

"What?" Ben demands loudly.

Kymber cackles. " _I'll let you go, now, but I'll let, uh, Mr. Dero know when I see him next."_

"Thank you!" Rey watches the hologram dissipate and turns on Ben. "Crepebread dough! Hurry!"

"Who the hell is Mopane Dero?" Ben look absolutely baffled.

"A man of intergalactic mystery, that's who." Rey wipes her hands on her apron. "Just tell me what I did wrong on the dough."

Ben pokes at it. "You put in two cups of water and the yeast, right?"

Rey claps her hand to her head. "Oh, kark me, the _yeast—_ "

"It's all right, I can fix it." He reaches up to get the packet down and grabs some water from the tap.

"What would I do without you?" Rey asks, rubbing her forehead.

"You'd be eating burned, tasteless food," Ben teases. "And my mother would be horrified."

She snorts and stands on her toes for a kiss, flour transferring from her nose to his. "Between Obri, Talla, and Phasma, _and_ Finn and Rose, your mother is going to be attending weddings from here to the end of time."

"How's Rose doing, anyway?" Ben ties his hair back out of his face and mixes the yeast up. "Third trimester treating her well?"

"She says she feels about the size of a Class-A Star Destroyer and can't move," Rey informs him, leaning down to take the roast nerf out of the oven. "She has two weeks left. Finn keeps rushing around like a crazy person." The door-chime rings, and Rey gasps. "Oh, _Force,_ I haven't changed—"

"You look lovely," Ben says, and he means it. "Don't panic. Just take of the apron and wipe your nose."

Rey checks her reflection in the mirror as she straightens herself. "Okay. I think I'm ready."

"Go get that door," says Ben, a bowl in one hand as he sneaks over to kiss her on the head. "You've got this."

Rey smiles up at him and takes a deep breath. "You'd think I'd be less nervous. After all, I work with her every day."

"Well, you're also announcing our secret engagement, so I think you have a right to be nervous." Ben smiles. "Go on. I'll be right here."

"Right. Okay." Rey takes a deep breath and walks out to their door. She hesitates for a moment, then opens the door and beams at the three smiling faces that meet her there. What is there to be afraid of?

After all, she's not alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WE HAVE FINALLY MADE IT TO THE END. 
> 
> Thank you to all my regular commenters/reader/subscribers. Your comments make my freakin' day. Stay tuned for my next fic, which will be a Titanic AU called "the shore so far away" the first chapter of which should be posted some time next week. I can't wait to share it with you!


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